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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b075d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69190 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69190) diff --git a/old/69190-0.txt b/old/69190-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6261bea..0000000 --- a/old/69190-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5703 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Troubled star, by George O. Smith - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Troubled star - -Author: George O. Smith - -Release Date: October 20, 2022 [eBook #69190] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TROUBLED STAR *** - - - - - - Troubled Star - - A Novel by GEORGE O. SMITH - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Startling Stories, February 1953. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - FOREWARD--EN SAGA - - -At least once in every generation there turns up a person who is -embarrassing to the Custodians of History. With neither talent nor -ambition, nor studious application nor admirable character, this person -succeeds where the bright and the studious and the intellectually -honest would have failed miserably. Stubborn, egocentric, vain--often -stupid--our person blunders in where the wise and the sincere would -not dare. His hide is thicker than that of the rhinoceros. He is not -abashed to tell the surgeon where to ply his scalpel, or to instruct -the statesman on a course of diplomacy. His little knowledge is a -dangerous thing--for other people. - -His success is due to the law of averages. - -History holds many accounts where the brave and the brilliant have -stepped in at the right time to avoid disaster. Yet there are more -bums than geniuses, more cowards than heroes and more laziness than -ambition in our human race, so it is not surprising that there should -be occasions when a bum or a self-centered braggart should find that -history has a special niche waiting for him. - - - - - I - - -They were parked on the dark side of Mercury, snug and comfortable in -their hemisphere of force that kept out the cold and kept in the air. -At one side where force met ground, a tall silvery spacecraft rose like -a chimney. - -They were three: - -Chat Honger was tall, red-headed, and thin faced. He looked as though -he were incapable of quieting down, but he was really the type of -person who has an incredible amount of patience for things which cannot -be performed in a hurry. - -Bren Fallow was shorter than Chat Honger, darker, stouter, more round -of face and more amiable. Definitely, Bren was the methodical type. - -The third man was Scyth Radnor. Scyth was the kind of man who is quick -to grasp a new idea and as quick to reduce it to practise. His failing -was that he seldom looked deep or planned far ahead. Being quick of -mind he preferred to play everything by ear because planning required -study, and Scyth felt that study for the sake of study consumed too -much time--time that could better be spent in the pursuit of fun and -games. - -Teach them the language and drop them in Greater New York and they -would be lost among Manhattan's millions. Better change their clothing, -though. Striped shorts, Greek sandals, a Sam Browne belt across a bare -chest, and a Roman toga of iridescent changing hues is not the kind of -costume seen on Fifth Avenue. - -Aside from their costume they were human to the last detail. Even their -speech, when translated, sounded like the human tongue. They used -slang, elision, swearwords and poor grammar. They made bum jokes and -puns. They sounded more like displaced earthmen than technicians from a -culture that had been establishing galactic centers of population for -thirty thousand years. - -"You're certain?" asked Bren. - -Scyth nodded. "Dead certain now. It was that last computation that sold -me." - -"Then I'd better shut down." - -Chat Honger shook his head. "We've got a job to do. We're behind -schedule now, fellows, because of this question. We've got a beacon to -start here, I say let's get along with it and bedamned to the--" - -"You can't," said Bren. "The first time you put down in the log that -this is a middle sequence flare-star, right smack-dab in the middle of -Yalt Gangrow's Diagram, the Bureau of Colonization is going to ask you -if you took a look for habitable planets. Then--then what, Scyth?" - -Scyth Radnor shrugged. "The answer is 'yes' we took a look and we -found one, just at the right distance, the right size, and the right -conditioning. To say nothing of upper atmosphere and other data made by -observation. So Planet Three is about as habitable as Marandis itself." - -Chat grunted. "Looked for any signs of life?" - -Scyth nodded. "The phanobands are as dead as you-know-what. The -machinus fields are all as dead as one might expect this far from -any established route. There are a few bits and dabs of stuff on the -radiomagnetic spectrum which show a recurrent pattern too fast to be -anything of natural phenomena, however. I say we ought to take a look." - -Chat shook his head slowly. "I didn't expect to find it inhabited. But -even knowing it is habitable is--" - -Bren said, "If mere habitability is all you're after we can go ahead -and establish our beacon and leave Planet Three to be handled later. A -beacon wouldn't ruin the planet itself, you know." - -Scyth said, "We'd better take a look-see anyhow. That last computation -on the radiomagnetic stuff looked too much like man-made radiation to -me." - -Bren Hallow smiled. "Look," he said slowly, "If this planet is -inhabited, how come the Bureau of Colonization doesn't know about it. -Not one case in the history of Marandis shows the discovery of an -inhabited planet that--" - -Chat interrupted, sourly, "that didn't stem from Marandanian origin. -But how about the several cases of spacewreck? Look what we're doing. -We're setting up beacons along a rift through the galaxy from Marandis -to the Spiral Cluster. We found this rift after years of hard work -and galactic surveying and exploring, and both of you know just how -fabulous it is. Well, suppose someone found it twenty thousand years -ago and got marooned?" - -"So what do we do? Take a run to Planet Three and radiate machinus -fields all over space? Not until we know. So, Scyth, can you ducky us -up a high-sensitivity job out of one of the standard menslators?" - -"I think so. D'you think it will work?" - -"If there is a primitive culture of the most low-grade organization -there, there will also be one or more leading characters. A man of fame -or power--or infame and power--whose person will be in the active minds -of a large number of hypothetical inhabitants. We should be able to -get some sort of response even if the whole thing is primitive as all -get-out. But let's take a look before we do anything that's likely to -get us into trouble. We're late now, another few hours isn't going to -hurt much more." - -The discussion in the dome on Mercury's dark side abated as the trio -went to work. Scyth began to tinker with his menslators; Chat began -to prowl the confines like a caged animal, thinking deeply, and Bren -Hallow went back to his massive equipment that was designed to create a -galactic beacon. - - * * * * * - -On this Third Planet of Sol there were still captains and kings and -presidents and commissars and a couple of dictators and a new invention -or two, all of which professed to be gentle guardians of the public -rights. Only the names had changed, some in violence and some in peace. -The names of places were about the same; a few had disappeared in the -heat of ideology, but by and large things and people persisted despite -atoms, politics and the cussedness of human nature. Youth was still -going to hell--and old age was still fuddy-duddy. - -One apparent change might have been noticed by a man of the middle of -the century, and even he would have expected it. - -The history of this change reads like this: - -A few years after Global War I, the manufacturer of a breakfast food -product known as "Oatflakes" realized a rather monumental increase in -the sale of his product. Conscientious investigation showed that this -increase was not due to the public becoming addicted to oatmeal as a -morning, noon and night diet (with a midnight snack tossed in) but -entirely due to a new plaything called the "Wireless." Wireless, it was -found, required as a major component about a quarter of a mile of wire -wound around the cylindrical box in which the oatflakes were packed. - -Some years later, when the first home-manufacture of radio sets slowed -because of professional manufacture of commercial radio, the sale of -Oatflakes dropped to normal. At this point the manufacturer of the -food product realized that the pathway to high sales was not along the -contents, but along the package. Let the public buy the stuff for the -box, or the box-top. If he wants to eat the stuff on the inside, that's -his business! - -So in the early-middle years of the century there arose a character -called Hopalong Cassidy, who portrayed an Old West chivalry and heroic -strength great enough to sell boxtops by the gross ton. He tied-in -sales with toy and clothing makers until business reached the Law of -Diminishing Returns. After selling spurs for roller skates the brains -ran out of ideas and turned to new fields. - -Space travel was the coming thing, so the youth of the land turned to -Tom Corbett, Space Cadet. - -Tom Corbett's only trouble was the same as the difficulty encountered -by one Frank Merriwell fifty years earlier. After twenty years, Tom -Corbett became the oldest undergraduate in Space Academy, just as -Merriwell became the oldest undergraduate at Yale. The youth of the -race wanted a real spaceman, full fledged and heroic, and so they got -it. - -Meet Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol.... - -The sleek spacecraft landed and the clouds of hot dust rose almost to -the spacelock, driven up by the fierce reaction blast. A hundred yards -from the Patrol cruiser lay the broken spacecraft of Roger Fulton, -arch-fiend, cornered at last. - -The spacelock opened and Dusty Britton looked out through a wisp of -the deadly radioactive dust. He was clad in the uniform of The Space -Patrol: black breeches and dark blue whipcord shirt piped in gold. -Calf-length black polished boots. His head was bare, and the collar -of his dress shirt was open wide enough to show the fine muscles of -his upper chest and shoulders. He was blondish with a wide open face -of the type that is associated with laughing-at-danger. His physique -was almost marvelous, slender-waisted, broad-shouldered, long-legged, -and agile-armed. His arms and hands and face were tanned from the -radiations of Outer Space and there were the million little wrinkles -about his eyes that were natural, not because of age, but because of -the price one pays for being a Spaceman. At his hip swung the secret -sidearm of The Space Patrol, a raygun far more deadly than the Colt .45 -in the hands of him who knew its use. - -Dusty Britton took a step forward to the edge of the spacelock, -took a deep breath, and then jumped down into the floating cloud of -radioactive dust kicked up by the landing blast. Within seconds he was -out of the cloud again and racing across the ground to the ship of -Roger Fulton which had landed askew. - -His crew appeared in the spacelock and looked down, not daring to drop -into that horror, knowing that they were not as fast as Dusty Britton -and could not make it through in time to be safe. - - * * * * * - -Across to the wrecked spacer he went, boldly breaching the ruined -spacelock. Along the corridor he went warily until he came to the -control room. He kicked the door open and walked in, poised lightly on -the balls of his feet, lithe and ready to spring like a stalking cat. - -Then Dusty Britton faced his arch-enemy, Roger Fulton. Roger Fulton -wore a three-day beard, his clothing was stained and torn and his hair -unkempt. Fulton watched Britton with cold, angry eyes. - -"Now," said Dusty Britton harshly, "Let's have it, Roger!" - -Very slowly and very carefully, Roger Fulton's hands found the buckle -of his blaster-belt and unfastened it. He let it drop, putting out a -leg so that belt and blaster slid easily to the floor. As it reached -his toe, Roger Fulton kicked it to one side. He shook his head and -sneered at Dusty Britton. - -"I should draw and fight the fastest man in The Space Patrol?" sneered -Roger Fulton. "I surrender. You'll never blast an unarmed man, Britton!" - -Dusty tossed his head. Keeping one eye on Roger Fulton, Dusty sidled -across the control room to where Barbara Crandall was tied to a chair. -Her eyes were soft for Dusty as he stripped the gag from her mouth and -untied her bonds with his left hand. She sat up, rubbing her wrists and -working her mouth, trying to tell Dusty something important that would -not come through the cramped muscles. - -Dusty turned to Roger Fulton. "I've waited for this moment," he said. -Quickly he unbuckled his own blaster and tossed it aside. Then he -stalked forward, poised to strike, his hands opening and closing at his -sides. "Man to man, Fulton. That is, if there's enough man in you to -fight!" - -Roger Fulton crowed, "Sucker!" and went into whirlwind action. His hand -darted inside his shirt and came out with a tiny miniblast. - -There came the throbbing sound of raw energy and a flash that blinded. -Yellowish smoke curled out and surrounded the scene. Barbara Crandall -screamed and tried to get to her feet but the hours of being tied had -numbed her muscles and she fell back into her chair helplessly. The -yellowish cloud billowed higher in the control room and began to thin. - -Then out of the cloud walked Dusty Britton. He held his right hand by -the wrist, shaking it with his left. "Stunned a bit," he smiled bravely. - -"But how--?" - -Dusty opened the fingers of his right hand and let a miniblast fall -to the floor, its charge gone, its usefulness ended. "He tried the -old hidden-gun trick," said Dusty. "But two can play that game. Roger -Fulton will never menace honest spacemen again!" - -The music swelled as the scene faded out; a cheer from Dusty's crew -finished off one more opus of Dusty Britton and The Space Patrol. - -It was a special occasion, this showing. It was Noon in New Mexico, -but the showing had gone out across a worldwide instantaneous network -no matter what time it was at the receiving end. In some places it was -late in the morning, in some places early, others had this showing late -at night. But people were watching back and forth across the face of -the Earth. - -The film came to end, there was the white flash, then an intermittent -flicker as cross-country synchronization took hold. (This flicker was -done with an eye toward the dramatic; worldwide networks could latch in -without a wink of the screen anywhere in the world.) An announcer came -on with the statement that everybody had been waiting for: - -"And now we take you to Dusty Britton in person, from White Sands -Spaceport in New Mexico!" - -A flash and a thundering boom shattered the air and a sonorous voice -announced: "X Minus Thirty Minutes!" - - * * * * * - -White Sands Spaceport was a broad flatland, ringed by thousands of -people. In the middle stood a three-stage rocket, waiting; its distance -making it look like a small model. In the foreground was a small -reviewing stand, and on the stand stood Dusty Britton, resplendent in -his Space Patrol uniform. He was extending a hand towards a youngster -about twelve, dressed in a miniature Space Patrol uniform, complete -with a miniature edition of the famous "Dusty Britton" blaster at his -hip. - -The lad saluted Dusty; Dusty saluted back. - -Then from his shirt pocket Dusty took a small box and an engraved piece -of paper. - -"Junior Spaceman Harold Dawson, it is my pleasure to award you this -Medal of Spaceman's Honor. - -"I am informed that upon July Seventeen, at Thirteen Hundred Hours -local time, you, Harold Dawson, Spaceman (Jg) full aware of the dangers -that threatened, did without thought of your personal safety, wade deep -into the shifting sands of Mudlark Lake and from that deadly quicksand -return your smaller sister to safety. For valor and for gallantry, I -present you with the Order of The Golden Heart!" - -With a flourish, Dusty pinned the decoration on the proud youngster's -chest. The medal glittered there, a small heart of gold surrounded by -rings like those of Saturn, carved in flat relief. - -Then with another exchange of salutes, Dusty Britton went down the -steps and into a waiting spaceport jeep and while the crowd cheered -wildly, Dusty was driven across the sands to the spacecraft. - -With tolerant parents permitting their young to watch this live, -in-person show no matter what time it was across the earth, it is not -hard to believe that during these many minutes there were more people -thinking about Dusty Britton than there had ever been people thinking -about any other person at any one time in the course of history. - -And so Scyth Radnor, tinkering with his menslator on Mercury, trying -to tune it to some response that would deliver definitive thought, -caught much more than he anticipated. In fact, it nearly overloaded the -device. - -"Any doubt?" he asked with a twisted smile. - -"Nope," from Bren. - -"I pass," added Chat. - -Scyth said, "So instead of being an uninhabited planet, we have a -rather high culture, complete with space travel. This Dusty Britton -must be quite a hero. But how in the name of the Great Space can -they have space travel without machinus fields or some knowledge of -phanoband radiation?" - -"Maybe their space travel is--er--" - -"Now look, you're not suggesting that people with a Space Patrol are -riding ships with tailburners? Rockets? What a horrible thought." - -Bren shook his head. "Our forefathers lived through it." - -"Not many of them," grunted Scyth. - -Chat objected. "Read that history you dislike so much. You'll find that -our ancestors went through hundreds of years wallowing across space to -the planets in reaction-type spacecraft. Chemico-atomic rockets, if you -please." - -"Let's stop the argument and get along with the main problem," said -Bren. "What are we going to do about them?" - -"Well, we can't set up a beacon with them here. So we'll just have to -take the proper measures." - -"That'll be quite a project. Whole colonies and--" - -"That they haven't got yet. They're at the outpost stage; the -scientific expedition stage. Their moon has less than a hundred people -on it, their Mars has been visited only three times, and their Venus -only once previously. This project that Dusty Britton is going on -is the second Venus rocket, the first one being sent as an orbital, -round-trip manned-job for observational purposes. So we can set up our -barytrine field without causing a lot of distress, and then we can go -on preparing our space beacon." - -Bren nodded and Chat said, "You're the handiest man with menslators and -the like, Scyth. You're also the guy that can think fast on his feet. -We elect you to go to the Earth and contact this Dusty Britton and -explain to him so that he can tell his people what is going on." - -Bren nodded. "Take the ship and go, Scyth. But use the driver as little -as possible. We'd still like to keep this rift secret, you know. We're -working for Transgalactic, not the whole damned shipping business." - -Not long after, on its secondary drivers which did not radiate enough -to make direction-finding much better than haphazard, the spacecraft -rose from Mercury and headed toward Earth. - - - - - II - - -Dusty Britton entered the lower cabin of the three-stage rocket and -flopped into a chair. "Quite a show," he said with a trace of scorn. - -Martin Gramer, the producer of the long series of Dusty Britton -pictures puffed his cigar and nodded with self-satisfaction. "Not bad," -he said. "Not bad at all." - -"Gramer, how the hell long is this nonsense going to go on?" - -"Until you're ready to retire." - -"I'm ready now." - -"For good?" - -"I could do something else, you know. After all, I am an--" - -Martin Gramer eyed the husky young man with derision. "You say 'actor' -and I'll blow a gasket," said Gramer. - -"Then what the hell am I doing here?" roared Dusty. - -"You're here because you have an honest-looking face and a pair of -broad shoulders to go with it. You're the living embodiment of John -Darling Trueheart, and you can act the part, providing some bright guy -lays out the floor plan and coaches you." - -Dusty growled, "Why not hire the bright guy?" - -"Because he's got a face that would scare children and the physique of -an underfed fieldmouse. Pull you out of that hero role you're in and -you'd fall so flat on your face that folks would be calling you Old -Doormat. Now snap out of it, Dusty, and be glad you've got hold of a -good thing. Stop looking for something you couldn't handle." - -Angrily Dusty got up out of his chair. "I suppose you think it's fun to -have to go roaming around the country wearing this jazzed-up surveyor's -suit with a three-pound chunk of rusty iron clanking on my hip." - -"To date they've sold three and a quarter million replicas of that -Dusty Britton Blaster you're so contemptuous of, and you've received -ten cents for every one that crossed the counter. What's so damned bad -about that?" - -"I feel silly." - -Gramer roared with laughter, then cut it to one short bark as he cooled -down to eye Britton angrily. "What's so damned silly about being a -model of honor and respect for several million kids?" he demanded. - -"Did you ever think how imbecilic it sounds to be Dusty Britton of The -Space Patrol, with no space to patrol, wearing a blaster that doesn't -blast? And wearing a pack of medals stamped out in the model shop? What -does it all add up to?" - -Martin Gramer tossed the stump of his cigar at the disposal chute and -faced Dusty with a hard expression. "It adds up to a lot, Dusty. It -adds up to a damned good living for you. It adds up to--maybe something -you're too dumb to understand, but I'll spiel it off anyway--being -an ideal. Damn it, man, there's millions of kids in this world that -eat, think and dream about the Space Patrol and Dusty Britton. You're -an idol as well as an ideal, Dusty. Kids follow a big name man. It's -a darned sight better that they follow an ideal rooted in virtue, -strength, honesty and chivalry than to have them trying to emulate -characters like Shotgun Hal Machin or Joseph Oregon." - -"Yeah," drawled Dusty, "But do you know what it means?" - -"You tell me your version, Dusty. As if I hadn't heard your gripe -before." - - * * * * * - -The disgruntled actor took a deep breath, opened his mouth, but then -closed it again. He let out most of the blast he was preparing and -said, quietly but disgustedly, "Why waste my breath? Dusty Britton -doesn't smoke. Dusty Britton drinks soda pop and milk. The only women -in Dusty Britton's life are his aged mother and his younger sister. -Dusty Britton's biggest gamble is when he offers to bet a Saturnstone -on this or that. Hell's Eternal Fire, Gramer, do you realize that I -can't even date a dame for a dance because 'Kids don't care for the -mush stuff!' and my private life is not my own? I can't even swear, -god-dammit!" - -Gramer eyed Dusty cynically. "You seem to get along." - -"Sure. I get along. When I shuck this monkey suit and dress like a -human being. But you know what happens? When I turn up at some joint, -do I get introduced as _The_ Dusty Britton? Like hell I do. I'm treated -like any of the rest of the dopey tourists. Herded like cattle to the -rear seats, while a tomato like Gloria Bayle lushes in with her fourth -husband and gets the works on the house." - -"You make my heart bleed, Dusty." - -"Your heart never bled anything but vouchers," snapped Dusty. He -fumbled in his hip pocket and pulled out a flask. - -Gramer did not say a word. - -"Well, aren't you going to give me an argument?" demanded Dusty. - -"No. You can't be seen." - -"But someone's likely to smell bourbon on my breath." - -"No one that counts. And by the time we get back--" - -Dusty stopped raising the flask in midair. "Get back--?" he roared. -"Get back. Look, Gramer--" - -"Sit down, Dusty. Take it easy." - -"Gramer, what goes on here? You're not suggesting that we take off in -this fire-breathing hot water boiler, are you?" - -"You've read all the advertisements." - -"Yeah, but nobody with sense would take ad-writer's copy for anything -but guff." - -Outside, a bomb burst with an ear-splitting racket. A stentorian voice -thundered, "X Minus Five Minutes!" - -"Ye Gods, you're really going through with this madman's publicity -scheme?" - -Gramer smiled. "Sure. It's just to Venus; but you can bet your life -that every kid that sees this take-off on video or here on the field -will be dreaming of the fabulous adventures you'll be having. Those -kids _know_ this is for real, Dusty." - -"Include me elsewhere," mumbled Dusty. He started for the spacelock. - -"You can't let those kids down!" roared Gramer. - -Dusty paused at the sill of the spacelock. "Gramer," he said cynically, -"I'm not letting anybody down. I'm just keeping the hide of Dusty -Britton in one unscarred piece." - -"But the public--" - -"That's what you've got press agents for, Gramer. So you can get your -high-priced publicity men to run a few miles of paper explaining how I -happen to have left this shooting star four minutes before take-off!" - -"Dusty, you're a no-good louse." - -"But a whole one. And let me tell you this, Gramer, you're less worried -about the state of youthful morals than you are about losing the thread -of a good, high-selling series. So I'm going to sail out of here as -though I was scared to death of rockets--which I sure as hell am--and -you're going to tell some bright explainist to get busy earning the -dough you pay him. And when the smoke is all cleared away, I'll be safe -and you'll be safe, and Dusty Britton will continue to go rolling along -and the box office will continue to come rolling in. Spend a few short -months in space? Not while the geegees are running at Hialeah!" - -"But Dusty--" - -"Space? Bah! Nothing, floating gently from vacuum to void and back -again. Not for Dusty Britton!" - -Dusty paused long enough to run splayed fingers through his hair and -then he headed for the spacelock with a determined step. - -"Wait!" roared Gramer. - -Dusty paused. - -"The least you could do is to go out of here not looking like Dusty -Britton. Don't be an ass! I'll cover for you, but you've got to help!" - -"All right but--" Outside another bomb racketed and the amplifier -announced laconically, "X Minus Three Minutes!" and startled Dusty with -the realization that he did not have much time. "--make it quick!" - -"You--there!" - -A technician coming up the ladder looked startled. - -"Fifty bucks to swap clothing with Britton, here." - -"Done," and the tech started to peel. He balked at Dusty's famous -'Blaster'? "That's worth another--" - -"Another fifty--dammit!" agreed Gramer. "Now, wave out the door while -Dusty leaves." - -The roar that went up was for their beloved hero waving out of the -spacelock, not the tech that came down the ramp with a rush, followed -by the portly Martin Gramer. The spacelock swung closed as the -spaceport jeep pulled away with Dusty and Gramer in the back. - -They were a half mile away when the thunder came. No one even noticed -them wending their way through the crowd, for every eye on the field -was looking upwards, straining to see the spacecraft that was carrying -Dusty Britton and The Space Patrol off to new adventures. - - * * * * * - -About a hundred miles off the coast of Baja California, Scyth Radnor -sat in the control room of the big spacecraft. The dome was awash. -Scyth sat high in the dome watching the pleasantly lazy progress of a -forty foot schooner that was coming in his direction. It was a pretty -sight and Scyth appreciated it even though he had been born on Marandis -some thirty thousand years after the sail as a functional device had -been outmoded. Sail, to Scyth, was strictly a vacation sort of thing, -just as it was to Dusty Britton and a few billion other people whose -lives are geared to a time-table except for vacation time. - -If there was any puzzlement over this, it was because Scyth's menslator -was not following the rocket, now laboring in free flight towards -Venus. Dusty, according to what Scyth had been able to pick up, -should have been there instead of here. But Scyth was not the burning -inquisitive type. He knew that there was some explanation and that he -could afford to wait until it was given instead of wasting a lot of -energy trying to figure out the motives of a member of a race unknown -to him. - -He had better things to contemplate. - -In the field of his telescope he could see a sight he approved of. - -It was not Dusty Britton, lazing easily near the wheel of the schooner, -keeping the helm steady with his left foot because his hands were -occupied with a drink on one and a cigarette in the other. It was -Barbara Crandall, lying on the cabin on a blanket. Her ankles were -crossed and the arch of the upper foot was high and graceful. One -thigh, slightly higher than the other, glinted from the sunshine, dark -tan. Her breasts pointed at the sky, molded in dazzling white that -contrasted sharply against the healthy, animal tan of her flat tummy. -There were many more square feet of healthy hide showing than there -were of the white shark-skin affair she wore, and Scyth approved of the -view. - -As he watched her, Dusty drained his drink, tossed his cigarette -overboard, and called: - -"Hey, Barb! Get us another quart, will you?" - -Scyth did not hear it, for his menslator was by no means that competent -a device. He just watched and wondered what they were saying. - -Barbara called back, "Out of it already?" - -"Yeah. I'd get it myself but someone's got to drive this rig." - -"Don't mind." She stretched languorously and stood up, stretching high; -pulling in her stomach and arching her back with her arms stretched -high above her head. Scyth whistled inadvertently as her body went -taut against the wisps of dazzling white that crossed her breasts -and hips. She came along the cabin top, dropped into the cockpit, -and disappeared into the cabin. She came out a moment later with a -bottle which she opened and handed to Dusty. She took the wheel while -he poured. They toasted one another. They sat side by side, their -shoulders touching. - -"Nice," she said quietly. - -"You bet." - -"Nice, quiet and peaceful." - -Dusty addressed his glass and held it high. "Here's to the G. D. Space -Patrol." - -"What are you supposed to be doing?" - -Dusty laughed. "I don't know. I'll find out when we get back. Gramer -will have some flanged-up explanation right and ready for me." - -"You'd better hope that the G. D. Space Patrol doesn't catch you all at -sea with me." - -"Phooey," he said. He pursed his lips and Barbara gave him a gentle -peck that made Scyth's blood bubble slightly. - -"Phooey nothing," she said. "You'd be--er--cashiered. Imagine a member -of The Space Patrol consorting with a woman." - -"What's good enough for pappy is good enough for me." - -Barbara chuckled knowingly. "Where are we heading, if it's of any -importance?" - -"There's an island dead ahead. We might camp on the beach for the -night. It's fine clean sand and--" - -"You mean that hummock over there?" - -"Hummock--humm--Good Lord!" - - * * * * * - -The hummock, dome of Scyth's spacecraft, began to rise out of the -sea. Yard after yard it rose, coming upward glistening wet, the sea -water running down in rivulets along its sleek flank. Ponderously and -inexorably it rose with a steadiness of living rock. Yet it carried the -air of feather-lightness, of an untold monster of sheer power held in -easy leash. This was no rocket, straining against the formidable pull -of gravity; this was a thing above material forces, its engines idling, -its control in complete command. Without a second glimpse it was no -spacecraft of Earth. - -Up out of the sea it rose until its hundred yards towered above them. -The spacelock was just above the waterline when the rising stopped -and the alien spacecraft stopped, rock-steady. It was poised on its -inexplicable driving forces with the same confident ease that an -elevator shows when poised on its cables at the twentieth floor of a -building. It stood rock-still and let the ocean waves break against its -sleek, polished metal flank. - -Whatever it was, Dusty did not like it. - -He kicked the auxiliary engine into life, loosed the halyards and let -the sails drop. He turned the helm hard as the engine roared into full -throat. But the schooner defied its helm and aimed bowsprit-on to the -spacelock of the spacecraft, starting through the sea like a dolphin -toward the ship of space. The engine raced without bite because the -ship was being hauled forward by some unknown force faster than the -screw could drive it; the helm shuddered but had no effect, it tried -to slue the stern sidewise but only succeeded in making the hull -strain out of line. The wheel whipped out of Dusty's hand and spun to -dead-ahead. - -Dusty left the helm and dived into the cabin. He flipped on his radio -and waited with rising panic while the tubes warmed and the meter -rose to the red line that meant that it was ripe and ready for use. -He grabbed the microphone, flipped the bandswitch to the Coast Guard -Frequency, and yelled: - -"This is Dusty Britton of the schooner Buccaneer. We are about a -hundred miles off the coast of Baja California. Help! We are attacked -by an alien spacecraft! Help! This is--" - -He let his voice trail off because the output meter dropped abruptly to -zero. Something had gone kaput. - - - - - III - - -Dumbly frightened at the face of the unknown, Dusty was far more -frightened at being confined in the cabin of his schooner than he was -of the nameless horror he would have to face above. He left the cabin -in a hurry, and with mental desperation he turned deliberately to face -the danger in the hope of getting it over with. He figured there would -be less anguish if it came quickly. - -The spacelock door was open wide and a man was standing there with a -fluted-barrelled thing in his hand. On the deck were droplets of copper -still hot enough to send up little wisps of smoke from the deck. The -stub end of the antenna was melted down in a blob. As Dusty looked from -Scyth Radnor to his ruined antenna and back again, Scyth leaned back in -the spacelock and dropped his weapon. Then he made a relaxed show of -sitting on the sill of the airlock with his feet dangling almost to the -tips of the waves. He looked relaxed and calm and the trace of a smile -was on his face; the kind of smile that would open into honest pleasure -if he were greeted with the same. - -"I am sorry," he said. "I am Scyth Radnor of Marandis. Despite the -fact that I was forced to ruin your antenna, I do come on a peaceful -mission, Dusty Britton." - -"Yeah--" mumbled Dusty stupidly. Barbara was leaning flat against the -mast, white-faced under her tan. - -"Believe me, Dusty. I mean no harm. I did have to prevent you from -broadcasting that which would bring a bad impression of me to your -people." - -Scyth reached up and pressed a button in the wall of the spacelock -above his head. The sill of the spacelock came out abruptly in an -extensible runway, carrying Scyth forward over the deck of the -Buccaneer. Scyth dropped to the deck and stood facing Dusty with a hand -extended. - -"What do you want?" stammered Dusty. "And how come you talk our -language?" - -Scyth pointed to the tiny case slung around his neck. "This is a -menslator," he explained. "When used in direct conversation with a man -of another tongue, it acts to translate for both parties their meaning. -It isn't perfect by any means, but it does help to make people of -different tongues understand one another." Scyth smiled and then said, -"For a quick and amusing explanation, observe this." Scyth clicked the -switch off and began to speak. His speech was utterly comprehensible to -Dusty and Barbara at first, but Scyth clicked the little switch after -he had said a few words. They heard Scyth like this: - -"_Fa d snall id_, an expression meaning to consign to the region of -theological punishment, which when repeated through the menslator -becomes 'Go to hell!' See?" - -Dusty nodded dumbly. Barbara relaxed slightly. - -"Now," said Scyth, "I am from Marandis. Marandis is a planet only a few -thousand light-years from the Galactic Center, which makes it nearly -thirty thousand light-years from here. Marandis is the seat of the -Galactic Government. Look, Dusty, I came here to explain all this to -you. There is a lot to say, and there is a lot you must take on faith -until you know all of it. Let's relax. Will you come aboard my ship and -have a drink? It's comfortable there and--" - -"No!" snapped Dusty. - -"Why not?" - -"Nobody, but nobody, is going to get me in any space ship," said Dusty -positively. - - * * * * * - -Scyth eyed Dusty queerly. His thoughts would have been obvious to -anybody but Dusty and Barbara. Scyth was trying to justify in his own -mind the attitude of a High Brass in The Space Patrol (_any_ space -patrol) who would not enter a spacecraft. Scyth finally decided that -Dusty's reticence was due to Dusty's suspicious nature. Dusty was -unarmed and he was not getting into a spacecraft capable of carrying -him across the galaxy, perhaps operated by other members of the crew. -There were no other members, but the ship was big enough to have many. -Scyth nodded to himself and smiled at Dusty. - -"As you prefer. I only repeat that I mean no harm and I add that the -salon inside is pleasant. We can all have a--" - -"We've got a drink," blurted Dusty. He turned on his heel and got the -quart from the seat by the helm. He stopped to get a third glass. He -poured. - -Scyth tasted gingerly. "Very smooth," he said. "What is it?" - -"Bourbon." - -"Bourbon. Tastes like an excellent liquor. Thank you. Now--" Scyth sat -down on the edge of the deck with his feet hanging into the cockpit -and settled himself for a session. "Dusty, we are here because we are -creating a beacon for our galactic spacelanes." - -"Beacon?" - -Scyth nodded. "You have the insular viewpoint," he remarked. "You can -stand at night and point out your destination. But you cannot even see -Marandis from here, even with the finest telescope ever built. Stars -lie in the way, huge gas fields and nebular clouds block fast direct -passage. To chart our course safely past such stellar menaces, we -establish beacons at the ends of certain free passages. For instance, -Sol lies at the end of a fifteen hundred light year straightaway from -the last beacon we set up. Here at Sol a slight turn in the course -is made and there is another straightaway for a thousand light-years -toward the Spiral Cluster. We--my friends and I--are charting the -course through a rather interesting rift from Marandis to the Spiral -Cluster. This rift, along which you lie, has been hidden from us for -thousands of years. When it is finished it will cut hours from our -travel-time." - -"And maybe so. But what is a beacon and how do you establish it?" - -"Dusty, when a spacecraft is running at fifteen hundred light-years -per hour, a three-day-variable star winks in the sky ahead like a -blinker-light." Scyth chopped his left palm rapidly with the edge -of his right hand. "Wink-wink-wink it goes. And the pilot puts his -spacecraft point-of-drive on the beacon and holds it there until he -passes it and aims to the next. You--" - -"Variable star!" blurted Dusty. - -"Yes. The three-day variables are used for course markers; the longer -variables are used to denote gas fields, nebular dust, and the like, -and the still-longer beacons are used to denote places where various -well-travelled starlanes meet, cross or merge. It is--" - -"Three day variable--" breathed Dusty. - -"Yes. In three days Sol will rise ten times its present brightness and -fall again to less than one tenth of the present brightness. This is -accomplished by creating an atomic instab--" - -"My God! How can any race live under such conditions?" - -"They cannot. Not unless properly prepared, well taken care of, aware -and ready for it." - -"Look," snapped Dusty. "Why not go out and use some other star for your -damned beacon?" - -Scyth shook his head. "If we were gods," he said quietly, "we could -park the Galaxy on our desk, pick up a broom-straw and by fitting and -trying we could locate the best course through the star-fields. But--" - -"If you were gods," grunted Dusty bitterly, "you could reach in and -move a few stars aside and run your damned channel on a dead line from -one end to the other. So why do you use Sol?" - -"Because the two straightaway lanes that meet at Sol do not meet at -some other star. In one or two cases along this rift the original -surveyors provided alternates in case we ran into trouble. But not on -this one. No, Dusty, we cannot change our plans." - -"But see here--" - -"Dusty, you wouldn't stand in the way of Galactic Civilization, would -you?" - -"You're damn well tootin' I would if it's going to mow me down if I -don't." - -Scyth said soothingly, "Doubtless you have cases on your Earth where a -state highway is surveyed right through someone's home. Tell me, Dusty, -what happens then?" - -"We buy the property at a fair price so that the family can find -another home of the same value." - -"So you don't stand like a barrier in the way of advancement." - -"No we don't. But where are we--" Dusty eyed Scyth with a frown. -"You're not going to tell me that your gang will migrate the people of -Earth to another solar system, lock, stock and barrel?" - -"That would be impossible, of course." - -Dusty grunted. "So we gotta alternately cook and freeze just so your -outfit can run a goddamned traffic pattern through our living room?" - -"Well, now, it's not that bad," said Scyth placatingly. - - * * * * * - -Dusty did not hear the Marandanian. He was thinking of Los Angeles -suffering under the effects of a variable star. Or, rather, he was -trying to visualize such a condition. His imagination provided -alternating scenes of icy blast and deadly heat, but Dusty's overall -technical knowledge was far too meager to offer him even a slight -glimpse of the real truth. To merely consider Sol varying about one -hundred to one in brightness and warmth every three days was as far as -Dusty could go. What would happen to the weather, the general climate, -agriculture, and all of the rest were far beyond Dusty. - -Even so, the sketchy picture provided Dusty with enough data to say, -"Why, we couldn't go on living on Earth at all!" - -"Right. Which is why I'm here." - -"But you said--" - -Scyth smiled confidently. "I'm not here to preside over the death of -your part of our human race," he said. "I--" - -"Our part of your human race--?" exploded Dusty. - -"Of course," said Scyth in a matter-of-fact tone. "So far as we know, -human life was first spawned on Marandis. About thirty thousand years -ago we became galactic in scope, spreading out, colonizing, expanding, -exploring. Many expeditions left home and were lost. But I'll not -belabor this any more, just accept my word for the following: nowhere -in this galaxy have we found intelligent life that did not spring as an -offshoot of misplaced Marandanian culture." - -"How can you be so damned certain?" - -"The easiest way is to check the cross fertility. It has always worked, -to date at least," said Scyth, inadvertently letting his eyes slide up -and down the very pleasant sight of Barbara Crandall's body. Barbara -knew Scyth's contemplative look and she reacted as any uninhibited -woman does when some man is measuring her. The deep high breath raised -her breasts and flattened her stomach even though she had no great yen -toward wanton promiscuity. - -"I gather, then, that you and your gang are going to do something about -us?" she asked. - -"Of course. We have a program for cases like this. Since you cannot -live on a planet rotating about a variable star, we'll move Earth to -another star of the same classification." - -"But--" objected Dusty. - -Scyth went on as though he had not been interrupted. "We'll set up a -barytrine field around Earth which serves to do two things. A barytrine -field cuts the force of gravity that holds Earth to Sol. It also -produces a complete stoppage of objective and subjective time within -the field. Then with machinus force-fields we'll put Earth in motion -towards another star of Sol's general size. In a thousand years you'll -come out of the barytrine field and resume your daily lives under the -light of a brand-new sun. It's as simple as that." - -Dusty eyed Scyth sourly. "Maybe I've got this wrong," he said. "Maybe -you think we live a hell of a lot longer than we do. Maybe you live a -thousand years and more but we--" - -Scyth held up a hand. It was the hand that held the glass, which was -empty. Dusty, reacting as he always did to the sight of an empty glass, -filled it despite the fact that he felt that Scyth Radnor was a long -way from being a friend. - - * * * * * - -The visitor from space smiled indulgently. "You miss the point, -Dusty," said Scyth, nodding his thanks for the drink. "I said that -the barytrine field produces a complete stasis in time. It will snap -on ... a thousand years will pass ... it will snap off. To us, we will -live and die and never see you again. But for you and yours, if you -drop a marble before the field goes on, time will cease for you until -the field goes off, and your marble will hit the floor a thousand years -from now. You will feel nothing. There will be a tiny flick of light. -If you are watching the sun it will probably blink and return slightly -off-center because we never can be that precise. If you are watching -the stars at night, they will wink out and wink on, and be in a new -pattern. You will feel nothing." - -"Yes, but, look here, we--" - -Scyth smiled again. "Oh, you'll be repaid. We'll raise you from your -present primitive level--" - -"Primitive?" - -Scyth nodded. "Primitive," he said. "You're as primitive to us as your -savages are to you." - -"But--" - -"Look, Dusty, thirty thousand years ago, Marandis was still ahead of -your present state of development. I can say this because your people -at the present time still have no inkling as to the inconsistencies -in the theory of general relativity. Someday soon you will discover -that general relativity does not fit all the cases. Then you will -propose the machinus theory of space-time. The machinus theory works -where relativity does not. Then," glowed Scyth, "you will discover -the phanoband carriers which operate in a way as to completely deny -relativity in every concept. From there you find the barytrine field -forces. But you're still primitive, Dusty." - -Dusty eyed the Marandanian sourly. - -Scyth continued, "You'd find little in common with us," he said. "You'd -find that you would have to re-educate yourself before you could even -understand us. Why, there are people in our culture who would take -advantage of your ignorance." - -Dusty nodded. His hazy knowledge of history presented him with a -costume drama of Sir Walter Raleigh handing over a ten, two fives, and -four ones to Chief Sitting Bull and receiving in return an engraved -bill of sale for the Island of Manhattan. This negotiation was sealed -with a slug of liquor out of a bottle labeled 'Bourbon, Bottled in -Kentucky.' (Pocahontas, standing to one side, received a string of -beads.) - -Scyth went on: - -"The big problem, Dusty, so far as you are concerned is the preparation -of your people. We cannot be precise about the position of the new -sun. We could not possibly hope to keep any semblance of your stellar -geography. When the barytrine field goes on, it will produce an effect -similar to reaching the splice in a reel of film. With no warning, -no pain, strain, nor furor the sun will snap slightly aside to its -new position. On the night-side the stars will flick instantly to a -new pattern. This sort of change would cause great hysteria and fear. -Unless the people are prepared for the sudden change. So, Dusty, you -as a high official in your Space Patrol must carry our message to your -people." - -Dusty said, "But--" - -"You've mentioned the possibility of payment," said Scyth smoothly. -"We expect and intend to pay. But not in money, Dusty. In service -and commerce and in many other ways. For instance, we know that your -group--I cannot call it your 'race' because your race is ours--must -stem from an early expedition and so you are a lost offshoot. As soon -as we can, we will come to you with teachers and learned men to help -you regain your rightful place as a part of our Galactic Culture." - -Dusty looked at Scyth. In his mind churned a hundred objections to the -whole thing. He did not like it at all, but he was logical enough to -realize that his objections would be waved aside and the Marandanians -would go on and do as they planned anyway. On the other hand, maybe if -Dusty Britton were to take a large hand in this affair and carry it off -successfully, Dusty Britton could become a large figure indeed. - -"It will be a bit difficult," he said slowly. "People are not going to -take to the idea of losing their sky and sun and a thousand years out -of the middle of their lives." - -"The thousand years are peanuts. Nobody will notice it. The swap in -suns is only a sentimental objection. One sun is like the next and -we'll see to it that they are as close as can be had. The change in -stellar appearance is deplorable, I admit. But it will give you one -advantage, Dusty. Like most skies, they are divided off into primitive -legendary shapes with neither rhyme nor reason. A cluttered mess. With -a fresh start you can make some reason to the constellations. These -are the sort of arguments you must use, Dusty. As a final reminder, -you must remember that this is what is going to be done. Period. It -is necessary and it cannot be stopped. Therefore you and your people -should accept it and make the best of it. Therefore, in what will seem -like three weeks, you will be by another star, under a strange sky, a -thousand years from this moment. And my people will be there waiting to -help you on your climb to the pinnacle of culture. - -"But now I must go. Take my words back to your leaders, Dusty. You will -go down in history; make the best of it!" - -As abruptly as that--Scyth Radnor arose from the deck of the Buccaneer, -climbed onto his runway, and was drawn back into the big spacecraft. -The spacelock closed smoothly and the huge ship rose silently out of -the sea and arrowed towards the high blue sky. The only noise was the -whistle of its passage through the air above. - - * * * * * - -Scyth landed beside the bubble on Mercury's dark side not long after. -Chat greeted him with a question about his success and Scyth smiled. -"Naturally they didn't cotton to it," he said. "No one ever would." - -Chat nodded agreement. "They wouldn't stand in the path of advancement, -would they?" - -Scyth chuckled. "I'm getting to be something of a diplomat," he said. -"Not good, but I think adequate." - -"Yes?" - -"Sure. First I told them about the beacon and let them ask questions -about it to whet their curiosity. Then I explained what the beacon -was, which horrified them completely, as it should. Then after letting -them cook in their own fright for some time I let them down easy by -explaining how we would help to save them. So now there's nothing to do -but to finish off the job." - -"Right. How long will it take for you to get the barytrine generator -set up and ticking?" - -"Call it a couple of weeks. I'll have to go back to Marandis for the -generator. It may take me a day or two to get it, you know. We'll -have to get our license revised, and we'll have to put a bond against -the safety of this planet Earth, as they call it. Of course, we'll -have lots of time to look for another sun where we can put their -planet; we can do that after the beacon is started and they're out of -danger-distance." - -Bren said, "So the first thing for you to do is to hike back to -Marandis and get your barytrine generator." - -Chat added, "When you take off from here, be sure you go due North -until you're a long way out of line. No use in advertising our -position." - -"Right. I'll fog-off the course as best I can." - - - - - IV - - -Within a few minutes after his return to Mercury, Scyth Radnor was -on his way back to Marandis to make the final arrangements. He took -the long way out of this part of the galaxy and wound his way in an -inextricable pattern to confuse any possible competition. Until the -through-route was surveyed and the first passage made from end to end, -there would be no exclusive franchise; another company might be able to -latch onto one open lane on this route and give them competition. - -Considered as unimportant was the fact that Scyth Radnor took along -with him the beefed-up menslator that had put him on the mental trail -of Dusty Britton. Not that this mattered, the chances were almost -perfect that no one of them would have done anything with it anyway now -that their problem was settled. At least, not Chat or Bren. Scyth might -have played with it in an off moment. He alone had gotten an eyeful of -Barbara Crandall, and while Barbara seemed to be Dusty Britton's woman, -Scyth might have wondered whether there were any more at home like her. - -But Scyth was on his way to the galactic center, out of range of -menslators, even the big permanent installations. - -Scyth, Chat, and Bren are not to be criticized for leaving a job -undone. To them, a mere explanation covered the entire program. They -did not expect the natives to understand the complex ramifications -of the galactic culture any more than a certain native chief could -understand the danger of fishing in Bikini Lagoon some fifty years -earlier. - -In fact, the three of them might have been highly amused at a primitive -culture that had committed the egregious error of placing such a high -value on something of no intrinsic value. - -But back on Earth, the wires buzzed and the headlines screamed, and a -brace of Gramer's press agents were hard put to untangle the mess the -Marandanians had started. - - * * * * * - -From the teletypes of Worldwide Press Service: - - UNITED STATES COAST GUARD RADIO TODAY REPORTED A DISTRESS SIGNAL - FROM SCHOONER BUCCANEER OFF COAST OF BAJA CALIFORNIA STOP BUCCANEER - ATTACKED BY QUOTE ALIEN SPACECRAFT ENDQUOTE STOP USE WITH DISCRETION - COMMA BUCCANEER OWNED BY DUSTY BRITTON OF MARTIN GRAMER STUDIOS STOP - -An excerpt from the daily column of Garry Granger: - - "There is something in the wind that smells like a publicity stunt. - Dusty Britton, our Space Patrol type Sir Galahad supposedly took - off for the Venus jaunt some three weeks ago, but has succeeded in - sending a distress signal from somewhere off the coast of Southern - California. Apparently The Space Patrol is about to meet up with - Moby Dick, or possibly it will be "Ten Thousand Leagues Under The - Sea" starring Dusty Britton. We would like to know two things: one - is whether our intrepid hero actually risked his million dollar - neck in a rocket or not, and the second thing is how much - hanky-panky the Coast Guard is going to stand for. Some things - should be kept sacred. We are not very religious here at the - office; but we do believe in the Brotherhood of Man, and somehow - we resent bitterly the use of distress signals as a means of - getting publicity." - -Excerpt from a press release from Martin Gramer Productions, Inc.: - - "Now it can be admitted! Dusty Britton has combined fact with - fantasy! No longer a mere actor, Dusty Britton was called from the - space rocket just a few minutes before take-off time to investigate - a secret report of space operations off the coast of Baja - California. If Dusty Britton reported an attack, it stands to - reason that the secrecy that surrounded the original report is no - longer necessary and Dusty Britton's presence on earth instead of - in the space rocket can be disclosed. We await more detailed - information as to the real nature of--" - -From a press-conference held at Arlington, Virginia: - - SIGNAL FALSE! SAYS F.C.C.! - - "Radar Stations report that no sign of space operations by any - agency other than the Venus Rocket have been observed. Even the - early warning screen operating along the coast of California and - Lower California has nothing to report. The signal of distress is - obviously false, and Dusty Britton will be asked to show just - cause for emitting such a report." - -A statement from the United States Coast Guard: - - "Search and rescue squadrons of the Coast Guard were in flight - above the schooner Buccaneer within an hour after the interrupted - distress signal from Dusty Britton. The schooner appeared to be in - excellent condition and was making its way back towards land when - sighted. Radio challenges were ignored but upon flying low, Dusty - Britton and an unknown woman were seen waving from the deck. There - seemed to be no signs of distress, but a Coast Guard cutter is - speeding to the ship and is expected to make contact in the next - few hours." - -Excerpt from the column of Garry Granger: - - "What actor, long noted for his derring-do and his exemplary - behaviour has been in unchaperoned company with a nubile young - female in romantic surroundings? In our youth, heroes were only - permitted to kiss their horses. We applaud the approach to reality, - but then we are no longer a youth." - -From the teletypes of _The Worldwide Press_: - - "Dusty Britton today arrived in port, bearing a tale of a Galactic - Civilization called Marandis. This Galactic Government it seems, - intends to move the Earth to another sun because our position - interferes with their program of running Galactic Highways back and - forth across the trackless wastes of space. Moving Earth is a simple - process, according to Dusty Britton. A mere matter of barytrine - fields, machinus forces, phanoband carriers, and a general - abandonment of the theory of general relativity. - - "From the viewpoint of the scientists interviewed following this - claim, Dusty Britton may or may not have been reading one of his - own scripts. Knowing Dusty Britton of old, we are inclined to call - this one: _Manuscript Found In A Bottle_ with a deep nod at Edgar - Allen Poe for the use of his title. - - "Dr. Foster of the Wellmann Observatory suggested that enough of - Dusty Britton's story was logical to make it sound good. A race - traversing the galaxy at hundreds of light-years per hour would - find variable stars helpful if used as beacons. But Dr. Foster - said that Britton's story was illogically incomplete. If this - outfit has the machinery necessary to move a planet, why not move - the stars themselves and create a straightaway passage from one - end to the other without curves in the course?" - -From The Wall Street Journal: - - D' B' ttn Ent' pses-Open 68 Close 43 off 25 - -Editorial From _The Journal of Temperance_: - - "Elsewhere on these pages is an apology for not printing the - interview between our science reporter, Miss Agatha Westlake, and - Mr. Dusty Britton. The interview was not concluded because Miss - Westlake believed that she could detect the fumes of alcohol on Mr. - Britton. It is deplorable that the youth of this fair land have put - their faith and their future ideals into the character of a man of - such despicable hidden leanings. A package of cigarettes was visible - on the deck of Mr. Britton's boat and nearby was a small glass of - the kind only found in those dens of iniquity, the formal name of - which is forbidden to these pages. - - "Let us therefore seek a new champion, who will eschew these vices; - who will find it more godlike to extend his gracious invitation of - vacation time to his youthful admirers instead of a woman of low - moral fiber. We feel--" - -TIME _Magazine_, Science Section: - - "Dr. Willy Ley, in an interview today in his retirement home in - Jackson Heights pointed out that he had always been convinced that - the limiting value of the speed of light was a false theory. - Therefore Dr. Ley concluded that it was entirely possible that an - extra-solar race could have developed interstellar travel. - - "My grandson, Gregory, is aboard the Venus Rocket," said Dr. Ley in - the rich German accent that seventy five years in New York have not - diluted. "I hope to see the day he takes off for Alpha Centauri. - - "But I do feel that there is reason to doubt the story offered by - Mr. Dusty Britton. Certainly the more intelligent persons of any - galactic civilization would be less likely to contact an actor than - scientists or government officials? This story of phanobands, - barytrine fields and menslators sounds too much like the fancies of - science fiction to me." - -Article in _The American Weekly_: - - "With heat rays and weapons of unimaginable power the enemies of - the Earth will swoop down to--" - -From _The Chicago Tribune_: - - "Not since the days of King George III has the threat of foreign - entanglements been so great--" - -From _The Daily Worker_: - - "Without a doubt this advanced culture has developed a perfect - galactic State, capable of serving all men according to their - needs. We feel that a pardonable mistake has been made by their - representatives in contacting a man of Dusty Britton's character, - and we will wait with open arms the return of the galactic - emissaries, who will bring with them the glories of--" - -From Mount Palomar: - - "Variable stars are of natural origin and can neither be started - nor stopped. The theory that such stars are used by a galactic - civilization as beacons and celestial stop-lights is utterly - fantastic." - -From the teletypes of _Worldwide Press_: - - "Dusty Britton was arraigned today in Federal Court for having - violated the rulings of the Federal Communications Commission and - the international rulings of the Havana Conference of 1972. An - indictment is expected from the grand jury, still in conference. - - "Dusty Britton is charged with having caused the transmission of a - false distress signal. He pleaded not guilty at his arraignment and - will probably plead not guilty if his case comes to trial. A fine - of ten thousand dollars or three years in jail (or both) is the - maximum penalty for a conviction. Public sentiment will probably - make the maximum sentence mandatory; this is an election year and - the Administration is interested in demonstrating that its foremost - desire is to serve the public interest." - -Press Release from Cosmic Studios: - - "The filming of first run of the new series, _Jack Vandal, Space - Rover_ was completed here after an extensive eighteen day program. - Jack Vandal is patterned after the characters of The Saint and The - Lone Ranger. Unrestricted by the laws that prevent a policeman from - performing his moral duty, hated by the underworld, Jack Vandal is - to become a Robin Hood of Space. The world premiere will take place - at The Palace Theatre, in Greater New York." - -Statement from The Office of Scientific Research & Development: - - "No evidence has ever been found to corroborate Dusty Britton's - statements that radiation phenomena exist which cannot be explained - by the application of Maxwell's Equations, and which are not - subject to the limitations imposed by the theory of general - relativity." - -Ruling by the Bureau of Navigation, Marandanian Sector: - - "It is hereby granted that a barytrine field be established about - the Planet Three of Sol, and that Planet Three shall then be - transported and placed in situ near a star of appropriate - dimensions. This enactment is to take place at the convenience - of the Transgalactic Company with the proviso that no inconvenience - take place to the culture of Planet Three. It is ruled herewith - that the change in stellar hemispheres and the revision in - planetary pattern is of no prime importance to a primitive culture. - - "It is further ruled that the loss of approximately one thousand - years of direct time in the inhabitant's life is of no importance - since contact with the external culture has not taken place, and - therefore this loss has no bearing on the primitive culture. At the - end of this period of transmittal, investigatory contact will be - made to formulate a program of enlightenment which will result in - the eventual assimilation of Sol Three into the Grand Galactic - Government. - - - Signed, Sealed, and Delivered - BuNav, by Direction." - - - - - V - - -Barbara Crandall opened the door for a quick glance, then opened it -wide. "Oh. It's you!" - -Dusty nodded glumly. "Yeah. Surprised?" - -Barbara shrugged. "A bit. When did they let you out?" - -"This morning." - -"Rough?" - -"You said it. Was it rough on you?" - -"A little, but it's been made up for." - -"How come?" asked Dusty looking up. - -She smiled quietly. "I've got legs and a figure," she chuckled. "I've -been cheesecaked all over town as the _Star Girl_ and there's talk of -my getting a part in the Jack Vandal series over at Cosmic Studios." - -"How so? Seems to me that we're both sort of washed up." - -Barbara shook her head. "Jack Vandal is a sort of cheerful villain, -you know. He takes delight in bumping off the well-protected crook who -can't be touched by the law. He's hunted by the police and hated by the -underworld--" - -"Spare the gruesome details. They haven't changed in a couple of -thousand years. How come you're not in the dog house?" - -Barbara smiled. "Because the woman in that kind of opus is always a -sort of shady lady herself. It wouldn't do to have an innocent virgin -for the companion of a buccaneer. So with my slightly tarnished -reputation I'm a natural. What happened to you?" - -"The lie detector test." - -Barbara blinked. "Then didn't that prove your point?" - -"I thought it did. But I forgot one thing. Seems that the lie detector, -no matter how good, is capable only of showing whether the character is -telling a falsehood or not." - -Barbara smiled confidently. "So you were telling the truth. Weren't -you?" - -"Sure," grunted Dusty. "Sure I was. But, quoting what's-his-name in the -Bible: 'What is Truth?' One of the court psychologists pointed it out -very clearly. If I firmly believe that the moon turned bright purple -at ten o'clock last night, under a lie detector I'd be credited with a -'Truth' when I said so. In fact, the damned thing would say that I was -telling a lie if I believed that the moon was purple and tried to cover -up by saying that it hadn't changed. Follow?" - -"So what was the verdict?" - -"The verdict was to the effect that I was suffering under some -hallucination--possibly induced by alcohol--which led me into this -story. Therefore my lie-detector acquittal was valid only to prove that -my call for help was, at the time, due to my personal conviction of -danger. I was adjudged temporarily incompetent." - -"What kind of sentence? They didn't just let you go." - -"I've been two weeks in the observation ward of the federal looney -locker. You see, to prove me guilty, they had to show that I had -willfully and maliciously transmitted a false signal, with intent to -deceive and/or for some personal reason. Willful tampering of this -nature comes out as malicious mischief; malicious tampering becomes -a federal offence. Maybe I've got my terms mixed up, but I think you -get the idea, anyway. The end-up was this: Dusty Britton was convinced -of his personal danger, his emission of a distress signal cannot be -called malicious. I am no longer the top star I was once--in fact -Gramer has cancelled my contract on the moral turpitude clause and the -McDougall Office has black-balled me from all productions. So after a -couple of weeks of observation at the spin-bin, they let me free with -an admonition to leave the stuff alone. Barb, have you got a drink?" - -"Sure thing. Look, Dusty, I know what you must think, but please don't -ask me to corroborate your story. Not again." - - * * * * * - -Dusty nodded soberly. "I won't. The first time I thought we could -convince 'em. But not any more, kid. One of us in the mud is enough. -We've got to find a new attack." - -Barbara handed Dusty a highball which he sipped before he said, -"Barbara, we've got to do something." - -"Why?" - -He looked at her, stunned. "Why?" he cried. - -Barbara took a sip of her own highball. "We won't lose a damned thing -and you know it," she said quietly. - -"A thousand years--" - -"So what?" she asked simply. "Supposing that they were a bit more -accurate than Scyth predicted. Suppose that they took this thousand -years out of our life at a time when you weren't looking at the sun. Do -you realize--" Barbara's voice lowered a bit dramatically, "--or have -you been watching the night sky to see whether they have already?" - -"I have," he admitted with rising excitement. - -"All right," she replied complacently. "Then you surely must realize -that this thousand years out of your life isn't going to change the -stock market a point, or anything else." - -Dusty nodded. "This I can realize. But do you think I like losing -everything but my other shirt? Do you realize that as of this moment -I've got only a couple of thousand bucks tucked away and about as much -prospect of landing another job as a dead fly?" - -"You're not really worried, are you, Dusty?" - -"Why shouldn't I be?" - -"Because as soon as this barytrine field goes on and off and we find -ourselves around another sun, in another sky, you'll be corroborated." - -He looked at her. "Of course--and I've kept my big trap shut, too." - -"You've what?" - -"You don't think I'd be nuts enough to go around telling people 'Well, -if you don't believe me, just wait until next month!' do you?" - -"Why not?" - -"Because then they'd have carefully kept me on ice until after the big -event." - -"After which your story would be corroborated and you'd--" - -"I'd have nothing," said Dusty sharply. "It's not good enough. Sure, -I'd be corroborated, but then I'd be blamed for not being effectual -enough to convince people in the first place. I'd be blamed for not -being the guy I've been depicting on the stage. I've been Dusty -Britton, The Great Hero. But when it comes down to really doing -something, I'm Dusty Britton, Liar First Class. Next it is going to be -Dusty Britton, Helpless Incompetent. I can't just fold my hands and -tell 'em that they can wait and see, and then yelp 'I told you so!' -because if there's anything that people hate it's 'I told you so!' -characters." - -Barbara Crandall looked at Dusty pityingly. "Dusty," she asked softly, -"Just what do you hope to accomplish?" - -"I hope I'll be able to--" - -"No. I know what you want to do. But what I want to know is how." - -"There must be some way--" his voice trailed off. - -"I can't see it. Scyth has probably gone to Marandis to get his -generator. Dusty, do you know where the hell is Marandis?" - -"Somewhere towards the galactic center." - -"I'm told that the galaxy is a hell of a big place. You've about as -much chance of getting there as you have of swimming the Pacific Ocean -with one arm tied behind you. Scyth is gone from here so far that it -takes light thousands of years to get that far. Hell, Dusty, at this -moment, the best resources of all the science of the Earth and the -so-called planetary income couldn't move a housebrick from here to -Venus in less than a matter of months. Alpha Centauri is actually no -more than a dreamer's symbol so far as we're concerned. In fact, you -and I know that Scyth's little friends are somewhere on the dark side -of Mercury getting ready to make Sol a variable. We couldn't get there -for months and months, and then we'd have a hell of a time locating -them, even if we had whatever it might take to get there." - - * * * * * - -Barbara thought for a minute and then went on, "And if we could direct -the entire Earth, and could call upon anything or anyone, we wouldn't -know where to start. What is a phanoband? Why is a barytrine field? -Even I know that there are a couple of dozen rather brilliant men who -believe that the speed of light is not a limiting velocity, but this is -only a conviction, not founded on any experimental evidence. So maybe -you've got a firm inner drive to go out and prove yourself. But how in -the hell are you going to make headway against a race that considers us -primitive?" - -"We've got to make contact." - -"How? Shall we call Mercury on the phanoband communicators? And what -was that intermediary step? The machinus fields? It sounds like -double-talk to me." - -"It was something about abandoning general relativity for the machinus -theory of space-time," said Dusty, bringing into focus all the science -fiction he had ever read. - -"Got any theories?" asked Barbara pointedly. "Frankly, Dusty, I'd like -to help, but I feel too much like a man trying to come all the way from -the stone age to the atom bomb in ten days. In order to circumvent -their foul plan we've got to abandon a very workable theory in favor -of an unknown something called the machinus theory of space-time, and -then from that we develop something called phanoband radiation, which -produces factors enabling us to reduce the theory to practise and -eventually we take to deep space, find Marandis, and put our case in -front of some sort of bureaucratic something-or-other. Can't see it, -Dusty." - -"So what am I supposed to do?" - -"Sit and take it. What else can you do? Darn it, Dusty, you can't fight -them, and you aren't in any position to join them. We haven't got the -initiation fee, we don't have the address, and we hardly talk the -language." - -Dusty looked at her sourly. "I'd hoped you'd help," he said unhappily. -"You at least know what the score is." - -"Dusty, I'd like to help. I do know what the score is. It's hopeless. -You're trapped in an awkward position. And like a lot of other people, -you are in a position where you can't do a damned thing about it. So -you might as well save your high blood pressure and start looking -around to see what you can make out of it." - -Dusty finished his drink and left. In a trash-can by the alley was -a Dusty Britton Blaster, complete with holster and a tin medal for -sharpshooting. The school-store across the street was displaying a -Jack Vandal mask and a small case containing ten candy cigarettes and -a secret compartment suitable for concealing ten-thousand dollar bills -lifted from lawless characters who might have used the dough to bribe -juries or buy professional gunmen. - -Dusty made his way along the street unrecognized. - - * * * * * - -The guard at the front gate looked at Dusty with suspicion. Dusty -looked back defiantly; for a number of years the guard had practically -bowed thrice as Dusty approached, Dusty hoped that the habit of -deference was well established. - -"Have you a pass, Mr. Britton?" - -"Now see here, Sam, I don't need a pass and--" - -"Mr. Britton, I've got orders to--" - -"Look Sam. Let's not stall. I want in and I'm going to--" - -"One minute, Mr. Britton. I'll have to call." - -Dusty grunted. "I want to see Doctor Ross." - -"Oh. Well, just a minute." - -The guard called, and Dusty could hear the roar of Martin Gramer, -"Throw the louse out!" - -"Sorry, Mr. Britton. We can't let you in." - -"Look, Sam, I've got trouble. You've got trouble. Do you remember your -younger days, Sam? When you were the top boy at Graphic Arts?" - -"Sure do. Great days, too." - -"What happened, Sam?" - -The smile faded from Sam's face. "I got too old." - -"Sam, all I want is to gab with Dr. Ross for a minute or two. I've got -a great idea. And I'll make you a promise, Sam." - -"Promise?" - -"Sure. I'll promise you that if you let me in right now, and this idea -of mine goes through, that I'll see that you get a good bit in anything -I'm in. We'll work it up from character actor until you're playing -bigger and bigger bits. You can make a comeback, Sam, and I'll help you -then if you help me now. How's about it?" - -Sam looked through the studio gates for a moment, and the thinking -could almost be seen in operation. He had darned little to lose; he -could always blame Dusty's entrance on some dreamed-up excuse, and if -Dusty's idea worked, he might even be able to take credit for having -used some initiative. - -"It's a deal, Mr. Britton. But don't forget me." - -"I won't." - -Dusty went inside, found the main idea-office, and talked himself into -the office of Dr. Ross. These hurdles he found less difficult than the -front gate; possibly due to the fact that once a man was inside the -fence, everyone thought he belonged there. - -Doctor Harold Ross greeted Dusty with surprise. - -"Dusty! How goes it?" - -"Not good. I'm a professional louse." - -"How come?" - -"Don't you read? Forget it. Look, Doc, you're actually the only -scientist I know, so I want to ask a couple of questions." - -"I'll try. But let's not lose sight of the fact that I'm not a credited -scientist, as you put it. I'm a sort of cockeyed physicist whose job is -to see that actors squinting through telescopes see Saturn at the right -angle, and that birds looking through spectroscopes don't point at a -blue triplet and call it the Sodium D Lines." - -"You might be even better than a real physicist of the research kind," -said Dusty. - -"Thanks for them kind words, Dusty. Flattery will get you nowhere." - -"I'm not trying flattery. You've been in this make-believe business for -a long time. That's why you might be able to think it out." - -"Go on, man. Spill your idea. What do you want me to do?" - -"Let's assume that Dusty Britton's wild tale about a man named Scyth -Radnor, from Marandis, is right. And that this guy came out of a -spacecraft parked in the ocean, sitting on the sill of the spacelock -waiting for me. He talked about the death of the general relativity -theory in favor of something called the machinus theory of space-time, -phanobands, menslators and all sorts of things." - -"Yeah? We've been having space warps ever since the days of Jack -Williamson." - - * * * * * - -Dusty grinned, perhaps for the first time in weeks. "Look," he said. -"I know the patter well enough. Doc Smith invented the Bergenholm and -Murray Leinster came along with the superdrive and George O. Smith -developed the matter transmitter to a fare-thee-well, but all this guff -is so much birdfood." - -"What are you getting at, Dusty?" - -"I wish I had studied a bit more science," said Dusty plaintively. "But -dammit, I don't know a microfarad from a polysyllabic neutron. But -I'm telling you that my so-called strange fancy is the God's Truth. -Some time in the next couple of weeks the Earth is going to get itself -transplanted. You can either help me now or you can come back later and -tell me that you're damned sorry you tossed me out. Take it or leave -it." - -"All right. So maybe I'll take it. I've only a couple of weeks to lose. -What do you want me to say?" - -"Look, Doc, supposing that you were convinced that interstellar travel -is possible; that these phanobands do exist. That this menslator -is a commercial instrument. And so on. Take the first premise: -faster-than-light travel is a commercial fact due to the development of -a theory called the machinus theory of space-time. Can you do a bit of -hypothetical theorization?" - -"Sure thing. I don't mind. We'll take this on the basis of plenic -syllogistics. Our first premise will be that this menslator works as -your pal Scyth claims." - -"It's Scyth. Not scythe." - -"Then as I put it, the menslator produces the mental image that Scyth -intends. He will say, for instance: 'A gostak distims the doshes,' and -because he means that a professional preparer of comestibles has placed -an unstated number of crustaceans under an open flame, you receive this -statement of Scyth as: 'The cook broiled some lobsters.' Is that clear?" - -"I can follow you," said Dusty. "This much Scyth explained." - -"Good. Now let's look at our commonly accepted definition of -'Mechanus'. This means that it works. In other words we have him -telling us that their culture has developed a 'workable theory of -space-time' which has been taken up after the theory of general -relativity displayed a number of gaping holes. So their 'mechanus -theory of space-time' is a workable theory." - -"And where does this lead us?" asked Dusty. - -"Right back into a circle," said Dr. Ross thoughtfully. "Because if -they've developed interstellar travel due to considerations brought -about by the mechanus theory, that means that they have proved their -theory by practise." - -Dusty grunted half-humorously. "Isn't this like saying that mud is -sticky because it's gooey? Or that winter is cold because of a lack of -heat?" - -Ross nodded. "Or that things fall because of the law of gravity." - -"But aren't all these things a case of defining 'A' in terms of 'A'?" - -"What isn't?" demanded Dr. Ross. "You're not looking for the Universal -Truth, are you?" - -"No, but--" - -"Look, Dusty, the reason that we can afford to accept the fact that one -and one adds up to two is simply due to the fact that one and one adds -up to two in a great majority of cases." - -"Wait a minute, Doc. One and one is always two." - -"Not when you add a quart of alcohol to a quart of water. One and one -here adds up to about one point eight." - -Dusty waved a hand. "That's different." - -"Not by a long shot, Dusty. There are extenuating circumstances. But -this is just a proof of the fact that one and one is not always two." - -"All right. But where does this leave us?" - -"In the same damned circle. Granting that your observations are -correct, proper, and unwarped by the addition of bourbon, Scyth and his -galactic civilization have developed faster-than-light travel which -has resulted in the establishment of a galactic government. But the -explanation of how it is done cannot be derived from the nomenclature -of the theory. Frankly, I have not the faintest idea of how to go about -unravelling the word 'phanoband' unless we take it apart from its -roots. Let's see, now." - - * * * * * - -Brows furrowed and lips pursed, the physicist thought for a long time -and then looked apologetically at Dusty. - -"I may be off the beam, Dusty, but I have a notion that your own -mind put it together this way: Phan probably pertains to the roots -of phantom, or unreal, or ghostly, or what is commonly referred to -as the 'supernatural.' The so-called supernatural is invariably a -phenomenon which cannot be explained by commonly accepted academic -theory or empirical practise, mostly because the folks who work with it -have neither academic nor empirical data. Incidentally, the 'o' part -of this first phase is undoubtedly a conjunctive vowel stuffed into -the word so that it can be uttered without losing a couple of front -teeth or blowing a vocal fuse, or maybe spraying the listener like a -professional German lecturer. So let's accept the concept of 'Phan' as -something that you cannot explain in common terms." - -"Go on, Doc. You're reducing my case to an absurdity, you know." - -"I'm sorry, Dusty, but that's how I see it. Now, let's take the 'Band' -part of the word. As a disciple of Maxwell, et al, I am hopelessly -incapable of concocting a workable theory of radiation which has -nothing to do with some basic concept of frequency. Frequency, when you -sit down and start analyzing it, is a nice, stable idea that explains -a hell of a lot, Dusty, and as you get into atomics you find that -particle radiation can be mathematically reduced to terms of frequency. -You can actually compute the equivalent frequency of a thrown baseball -or a .22 rifle bullet, you know. Then we get to that high-flung miracle -we call 'resonance' and God protect me from having to deliver a -thirty-minute explanation of resonance." - -"I won't ask you to, Doc. But aren't you getting involved in your own -traps?" - -"Yes, I am. And I'm sorry. But I can't help it. But you can follow my -fumblings, Dusty. In the first place the radiation is not understood, -which explains your accepting the mental concept as 'Phano' and because -the physics of the radiation must be other than electromagnetic--which -would call for the menslation into 'spectrum' the somewhat ambiguous -term 'band' is assigned in your mental concept of the idea. So the -literal menslation of the word is: 'Unknown mode of radiation' which--" - -"But where are we getting, Doc?" - -"That's what I was approaching, Dusty. This harangue boils down to the -following: these people have a form or type of energy level which is -completely inexplicable to terrestrial science at the present state of -the art. Their terms, when menslated into our level of appreciation, -come out as 'something that works' and 'something that cannot be -defined' which, after all, is like trying to explain to a savage why a -hunk of black rock always turns toward one direction." - -"Hell!" - - * * * * * - -The doctor continued. "Sure. It's hell. Even your own term 'menslator' -which I've picked up as a fine concept is only your own feeble -transliteration of the definition. It does not carry any of the basic -theory. So the fantastic gizmo merely aids in the conveying of an idea -from one mind to another, despite the fact that the two minds place -different values upon the definition of words." - -"But this isn't what I'm getting at, Doc. What I want to know is: -granting the possibility of faster-than-light velocities, what have we -got to explain it?" - -"Nothing. Nothing but your own statements that you believe that this -is possible and that someone has done it. None of us have any evidence -that it is possible, except you. And I am afraid that I must question -your training as a scientific observer." - -"But, Doc, I--" - -"Let's face it, Dusty. You swing about as much weight in scientific -circles as Suzy Richtmeyer, voted last year as Miss Alphatron, parked -on the Caltech boo-hucky showing about three yards of shapely nylon -and thirty-two well-polished teeth. She was gorgeous but ill-educated, -Dusty. She wasn't afraid of getting sterile in a radiation lab. She -was afraid of getting pregnant. But if you sit there and ask me how -anybody could possibly make any sound and workable theory out of what -you describe, I can't see it." - -"Look, Doc, maybe I can't deliver much. But they were there and that's -what the guy told me." - -"There's only one hope, Dusty." - -Dusty Britton looked at Dr. Ross; with a voice of determination he -said, "Doc, if there's any hope, let me know how?" - -"You've claimed that this galactic gang have some humanitarian -instincts. They aren't just going to set fire to good old Sol and let -us alternately fry and freeze." - -"Stop kidding me." - -"Maybe I'm not kidding. I'm still promulgating on your own cockeyed -plenum." - -"You're not giving me much--" - -Dr. Ross sat back confidently. "No, dammit, I can't say that I give -much credit to your cockeyed story, Dusty." - -"Now see here--" - -"Now _you_ see here," snapped the physicist sternly, "I won't deny that -anything is possible. But I am a firm believer in the law of least -reaction, and I think that this covers the case. If this character -Scyth is at all concerned about our welfare--still granting that -he does exist elsewhere but in your own mind--then get this, Dusty -Britton: he will be back to see how you've made out in your program of -preparing people for the big change before he turns on this barytrine -generator." - -Dusty eyed Dr. Ross sourly. "And what is your explanation of that word?" - -"Easy, and it means no more than anything else when it is what you -call menslated. 'Bary' stems from the root 'heavy' as in 'barytone' -referring to something of heavy voice or highly accented. 'Trine' -refers to something threefold in astronomical or--er--astrological -(haruumpf) meaning. My God, Dusty, the word itself pertains to -something as three-times-as-heavy. You don't expect me--or any -other scientist--to come up with something sensible from a bunch -of half-baked definitions, do you? All you've given me so far is a -workable theory, an unknown medium of radiation, and something that -is three-times-heavy. Tell you what, chum. Bring me your Scyth Radnor -and introduce me. I know guys who would analyze MacBeth's three -witches' brew if they could get a microgram sample. But not from that -gobble-gabble about the 'fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron -boil & bake!' line out of Shakespeare." The physicist went on in an -undertone, "Eye of frog and tongue of newt," until Dusty stood up and -prepared to leave. - - - - - VI - - -Scyth Radnor was pleased with himself. The trip had gone well. He -was back on Earth and the barytrine generator was running in the -warm-up cycle, building its field to the magnitude necessary for -synchronization to the fabric of space stress caused by the planet -Earth. It had not been difficult to maneuver himself into this position -of having to run the barytrine generator and in doing so turn up with a -few days of vacation. - -He surveyed himself in the mirror and nodded. Then he left the big -spacecraft and embarked on an errand that looked very interesting -indeed. - -Eventually, with no adventure worth reporting, Scyth found himself -standing before a door pressing on a button. - -Barbara Crandall cracked the door an inch or so and peered out. "Yes?" -she asked. Barbara was not expecting any visitors, and her natural -reaction was to open the door only a few inches until she determined -the person making the call. But the sight of this man in faultless -whites caused her to open the door a full two feet. - -"Miss Crandall, I--" - -"I don't think I--" - -Scyth chuckled again. "Barbara, may I call you Barbara?" - -"Oh, now see here--" - -"You don't know me?" demanded Scyth with a hurt expression. - -"Should I?" - -Barbara was beginning to doubt this parley as a program of good sense. -As a stage personality, even though far from a universal popularity, -she knew very well that a completely dull heart frequently beat lustily -beneath an expensive exterior and that a clear, open, friendly face -often went with a mind fit only for the company of scorpions. - -He saw her doubt and decided that he had played this guessing game -long enough. "Barbara Crandall, I know you don't recognize me in these -clothes and in this surrounding. Our last meeting was under a rather -strange circumstance. I am Scyth Radnor, the Marandanian." - -"Scyth Radnor!" she exclaimed. "I--yes, it is. I'm sorry, Scyth. I did -not recognize you in human clothing." - -"Please," he parried, "Don't say it that way. I am as human as you are." - -Barbara looked at him defensively. "And you're here to prove it?" - -Scyth blinked. She was rather distractingly direct. "There is no -suitable answer to that," he said. "Must I supply one?" - -Barbara laughed. "Come in, Scyth. Let me offer you the hospitality of a -drink." - -"Pleased," he said, following her into the living room. She waved him -into a chair and turned towards the kitchen. - -When she came back with two highballs, Scyth was relaxed in the -loveseat. Barbara noted it with inward amusement and handed him the -drink without comment. Scyth sipped the drink first and then took a -deep and appreciative drink. - -"You do have something to offer," he said, not showing his -disappointment that Barbara had seated herself in the chair instead of -on the loveseat beside him. - -"That," she said, "makes two items, doesn't it, Scyth?" - -Scyth knew that he had lost the initiative; Barbara was way ahead of -him. He tried another tack: - -"I came to see how you are making out," he said. - -"I'm not doing badly." - -"Is the public aware of the impending event?" - -"Aware, but not believing. Dusty Britton lost his shirt over this." - -"He'll get it back," said Scyth. "I'm not concerned over the result. -It's happened before and it will probably happen again." - -"It's more than possible that Dusty will be vindicated but will then be -blamed for not doing something about it," said Barbara. - -"That cannot be helped. Dusty couldn't do anything about it, you know. -And if Dusty loses out in the long run, we can't permit the well-being -of one lonely man to stand in the way of galactic progress." - - * * * * * - -Barbara smiled confidently, but with a slightly sour twist to her -pretty lips; it led Scyth to think that there was some derision in her -mind. She confirmed it by saying, "Scyth, since you are going on with -your program no matter what happens, and your concern about warning the -people has worked no matter what happens to Dusty Britton, why do you -bother coming back for a look-see?" - -Scyth squirmed uncomfortably. Despite certain jokes to the contrary, it -is not acceptable to confront a desirable young lady of barely speaking -acquaintance and flatly state the delicate proposition. The difficulty -here was that no matter how he tried, Barbara Crandall was turning the -trend of conversation right back onto the old original trail. - -"You're an actress," he said. - -"So I'm told." - -Scyth smiled. "You're popular? You are in demand here?" - -"I am on my way up," she said. - -"Barbara, you could be a popular actress, you know." - -"Someday I shall be. But this does not come overnight, Scyth. It takes -work, you know." - -"I have an idea that the flavor of the foreign often helps." - -"This is true." - -"Then I have a suggestion. Why not come along with us back to Marandis? -You have youth and beauty and ability and also the exotic flavor. It--" - -"What shall I be?" she returned quietly. "The ignorant but beautiful -barbarian? A clothes horse slightly incapable of holding an intelligent -conversation? This seldom works, Scyth. I've studied history a bit and -I recall the case of a native girl called Pocahontas who was carried -from her native surroundings into the height of the civilization for -the time. She was no actress--she was _exhibited_ like a pet monkey or -a rare zoölogical specimen. She died of what they called heartbreak. -I think heartbreak in this case was a combination of loneliness, of -facing the realization that she could never really belong to the -culture, of the futility of asking to be returned to her people. In -other words Pocahontas lost the will to live. So thank you, Scyth, but -I have no desire to be a chattel, or a curiosity.... Or a museum-piece." - -Scyth nodded seriously. "I see your point. But I don't agree with you. -In the first place you are indulging in a conversation with me. In the -second place, you--" - -"In the first place," said Barbara pointedly, "this conversation is -being carefully kept on my level, isn't it?" - -"I wouldn't say that." - -"Of course not. But look, Scyth, aren't you using that menslator of -yours?" - -"Of course." - -"Then the menslator keeps the conversation down to my level because -by its very nature it cannot convey an idea to me that is beyond my -understanding. Am I correct?" - -"In a sense, yes. But--" - -"Scyth, can you menslate a dog, for instance?" - -"A dog has so little mind that--" - -Barbara interrupted this with a wave of her hand. "So how long would it -be before you and your people became damned sick and tired of talking -down? It would be like trying to conduct an adult discussion in baby -talk, wouldn't it?" - -Scyth shook his head. "Not entirely," he said. "It might be that way -at first. But this would not last. I don't know of your history, but -I assume that your Pocahontas was a true savage. You had nothing like -the menslator. Doubtless she never learned any real language and so -lacked the ability to use a language of any kind, let alone learn the -ramifications of the culture behind it. You would be on an entirely -different plane. You have a language and a culture and you are quick to -grasp a new idea. With a menslator you would learn the language well -enough in a short time and while the deeper factors of the culture -would always escape you, the superficial parts would eventually come -easy." - - * * * * * - -For an answer, Barbara pointed to the wall. "Scyth, on that wall is a -painting given to me by a character who calls himself an artist. Take a -gander." - -Scyth looked. The painting was a mess of squiggles and blots of color. -It was iridescent here and drab there, soft lines elsewhere and sharp -contrasts somewhere else. - -"Interesting," said Scyth. "What is it?" - -"I'm not sure. I think that this is the painting; but all it needs is -a hole in one corner and it could be the palette that the guy used to -make the painting." - -"This is apropos of what?" - -"Frankly, I think it is a mess. It is something that could be -accomplished by a monkey turned loose in a paint store. But the artist -calls it 'modern' and defends his stand by stating that anybody who -criticises it is wayward, ignorant and unappreciative of the finer -moods and things of life. So put me in your culture and turn me loose. -If I criticise it will be because I am too primitive to understand -these higher bits of culture. If I enjoy something, I am looked down -upon because I can't really feel the true depth of the thing. It--" - -Scyth held up a hand and his empty glass at the same time. Barbara -laughed and went to give him a refill. It also gave him time to think, -and when she came back with his highball he had the answer. - -"Barbara," he said sincerely, "a lot of what you say is true. But look -at it this way. You will be a celebrity. You will, to all intents and -purposes, be among your own kind. That helps. So you can't follow the -deeper arguments nor appreciate the complexities of society as we know -them. But think of what you can see and enjoy which will be forever -denied you if you refuse my offer." - -"For instance?" - -"Imagine the beauty of a planet under a double sun. Imagine if you can -the beauty of a night sky with a ringed moon glowing soft over the -landscape. Coalestis is a planet where most of the minerals and rocks -combine into black stuff. Imagine the beauty of a city of polished -ebony. There are the twinworlds we call Venago One and Two. The Venagos -are separated only by about a hundred thousand miles and in the night -sky you can look up and see the other world glowing over a quarter -of the heaven, and on the dark side are the winking beauties of the -cities glowing like jewels. You will see worlds where the vegetation -grows lush; riotous colors to hundreds of feet tall and there are cold -planets where the ice and snow are always dazzling white. You will wear -sheer shimmering cloth so soft that you have no word to describe it. -You will wear jewels that glow with their own internal light. Money and -luxury will be yours, to travel as you see fit; to spend the rest of -your life flitting from star to star, seeing the varied wonders of the -universe. That is the fate of an actress in our culture, Barbara, for -Lord knows we have few enough of them." - -Barbara looked at Scyth seriously. A number of things occurred to her, -and one of them was simple. If Scyth had returned to earth to see her, -it was obvious that she measured up well against the women of Marandis. -Another factor was the yearning to travel. Barbara would not have -recognized the train of thought if it had been labelled and explained, -but it was there none the less. This was her one chance to see the -greener grass on the other side of the galaxy, the chance to realize a -human dream of countless centuries. - -She smiled wanly. - -"You see what I mean?" asked Scyth. - -"I think I do." - -"Doubts?" - -"Yes. I feel as though I'll be abandoning my own kind." - -Scyth had been leaning forward on the loveseat. Now he came forward to -cross the room. He leaned down, took her hands, and lifted her out of -her chair. - -"You'll come?" - -"You make it very attractive." - -"You can do nothing by staying, Barbara." - -"But--" - -Scyth freed one hand and fished in his jacket pocket. He came up with a -small box, deftly flipping the cover up with his thumbnail. - - * * * * * - -Coiled inside the box was a chain of tiny-linked metal that glowed -gently with a pale green light. Against the dark cloth of the box -lining was a scrollwork of dark metal, the setting for a stone about -a half inch in diameter. The stone itself was cut in many facets each -of which glowed in a dazzle of a different color. Scyth moved the box -gently and the facets changed color and sent flecks of polychrome -dancing against the ceiling, the walls, the floor. Flecks of light -caressed his face and sparkled into her eyes. - -Barbara took a deep breath, then held it, completely entranced by the -bauble for which she had no words to describe. It was sheer beauty and -she knew that anything that she said would be completely inadequate. - -Scyth freed his other hand and took the pendant by the chain. Holding -it by both ends, he held it up to her throat. - -Barbara stood immobile as Scyth put his hands to the back of her neck -and fastened the clasp. Deliberately he let the tiny links slide down -across her shoulders, let the chill of the cold jewel-stone thrill her -as it slipped down her chest towards the hollow between her breasts. - -Then, gently, Scyth took her by the shoulders and turned her to face -the mirror on the door. She turned under his hands as though she had no -will of her own, to look into the mirror and gasp at the rich beauty of -the gem. - -Scyth drew her back against him and she leaned gently with her -forehead against his chin. He put his hands on her waist and she -covered them with hers, squeezing them as she drew his arms close -around her. She tilted her head back and turned her face to offer her -lips and he found them warm and soft. His hands caressed her. Barbara -turned in his arms to face him and he held her close. - - - - - VII - - -The snick of a key in the lock did not break through their -preoccupation with one another, but the cynical voice of Dusty Britton -came as the shock of a bucket of cold water: - -"Very pleasant scene," he drawled. "I hope I've interrupted something." - -Scyth and Barbara parted in a whirl. - -Scyth felt a sinking sensation in his middle as he realized that the -facts were far too clear; that the sensible course was a hasty retreat, -but the only path was barred by Dusty Britton. - -Barbara took the woman's course. "Don't you ever use the doorbell?" she -asked icily. - -Dusty smiled sourly. "I always have," he said. "Up to now. But this -time I want words with the gentleman in question instead of losing him -out through the back door." - -"I think I should explain," said Scyth uncertainly. - -Dusty chuckled. "What sort of explanation do you think I'll accept?" he -asked the Marandanian. - -"But I--" - -"Stow it, Scyth. You couldn't explain a thing and you know it." - -Barbara snorted angrily. "See here, Dusty, you can't come in here and -start--" - -"I'm not starting anything. I'm just seeking a conference with Scyth." - -"How did you know?" asked the Marandanian uncertainly. - -"By being just smart enough to find a tomcat by knowing where the -tomcat is likely to prowl." - -"Meaning?" demanded Barbara icily. - -Dusty ignored her. To Scyth he said, "I don't know beans about -barytrine fields or generators, but I guessed that you'd set it up on -earth somewhere, start it cooking, and wetnurse it until it came to a -boil. That would leave you on Earth with time to kill. Since time hangs -heavy, you'd probably look up one of the only two people you know. The -more attractive one, Scyth. So I've been haunting the front door like a -private eye." - -Barbara coughed. "You took that right out of The Space Patrol Fights -The Overlords of Delgon." - -"So I've got good writers," grinned Dusty. - -"What do you intend to do?" asked Scyth nervously. - -Dusty faced Scyth. Dusty topped the Marandanian by perhaps an inch or -two and covered him by a good twenty pounds. He guessed that if it came -to roughhouse he would probably win. He poised himself on the balls of -his feet, just in case. He had no way of guessing the speed or power of -the wiry-looking Scyth Radnor and so he was taking no chances. - -"I became a professional bum because of you and your phanobands and -your menslators and your barytrine fields," he said bluntly. "I was -laughed out of everything I had. So now you're going to go with me and -tell 'em all that I was right. We'll have the big domes out to take a -look at your spacecraft, have 'em inspect your barytrine doodad, take a -gander at whatever it is you call phanobands, and so on." - -Scyth understood all too well. He was trapped, faced by a man who could -take him apart bit by bit without much trouble, and if he came out of -it alive, he would end up by being a bigger bum than Dusty Britton had -become. Scyth had fumbled badly by taking time off for fun and games -with Barbara and he knew it. The only thing to do was to clear out of -here no matter what happened afterwards. For once the barytrine field -snapped on, any evidence of Scyth Radnor's attempt at dalliance could -not come to light for a thousand years. - -His hand lifted slowly to the inside pocket of his jacket as he said, -"I'll be glad to help you, Dusty. Naturally, none of us have any notion -of making things tough for anybody. So--" - -Scyth went into whirlwind motion. His hand came out from inside the -coat carrying a fluted-barrelled weapon. As the end of the thing -cleared the lapel of Scyth's jacket he was fingering the trigger and a -pale emanence seared out and cut down and over in a slashing arc. - - * * * * * - -But at the whirl of action, Dusty's hand arrowed into the space between -the lower two buttons of his dress shirt and came out with a snub-nosed -automatic. - -The pale slash of Scyth's weapon was blotted out by the flash and -racket of a shot. - -Scyth whirled, flinging his weapon against the wall from an -outstretched hand. The thing hit with a crunching sound and Scyth -continued to turn on rubbery legs, sinking and sinking and turning -until he sat heavily on the floor. He sat, stunned, just long enough -to fold his hands over his belly. Then he folded forward over them and -rolled around sidewise as if falling out of his own lap. He half-rolled -and fell a-sprawl on his face. A spread of blood stained the white -carpet. - -Dusty looked down at Scyth. He looked from Scyth to the snub-nosed gun -in his hand and swallowed heavily. The gun dropped to the floor with -a muffled thud from nerveless fingers; Dusty looked at Barbara out of -far-away eyes and said, "He--er--I--" - -Then he slid to the floor in a dead faint. - -Barbara stifled a scream. The whole thing had been lightning-fast, but -she had caught most of it. Scyth had shot first but now he was bleeding -on her carpet. Dusty had shot second and was lying in a dead faint. -Hysteria choked up in her but she drove it back. She wanted to laugh -hysterically. She wanted to let go and slide to the floor and go to -sleep while someone else came in and cleaned up the mess. - -Realizing that she could only hold off the rising hysteria until -someone did make a rational move, Barbara reached for and drained the -highball on the bar. She augmented this slug with a muscle-sized hooker -from the bottle. The liquor burned down and helped to iron out her -jittery nerves. - -She grabbed the ice-pitcher which was filled now with melted cubes and -a slosh of water. Unceremoniously she poured the cold mess over Dusty's -white face. - -Dusty's eyes fluttered and his voice made spluttering noises. "Wha--?" -he fumbled. - -"Come off it!" snapped Barbara. - -Dusty sat up weakly. He looked around for a moment as if he weren't -quite sure of where he was. Then he caught sight of Scyth and it all -came back to him. He scrambled to his feet and took the bottle from -Barbara's hand. He took a healthy slug himself and then said, "He tried -to--tried to--" - -Barbara laughed hysterically. Between gales of half-mad laughter, she -said, "Tried to beat the fastest man--in The Space Patrol--to the draw!" - -Dusty slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. "Shut up!" -he roared. "Shut up and make sense!" - -She came out of the hysteria instantly, shrinking back from Dusty with -a hand against the growing redness on her face. "Dusty--don't--" - -He shook his head hard. "Sorry. You needed it." - -"I know. But he--? Look, Dusty, what do we do now?" - -Dusty looked down at the bleeding man. "Cops," he said thickly. "I've -just shot a--" He could not finish; his face was turning green again. - -"Cops nothing," snapped Barbara. - -"But shooting--" - -"Come off it, Dusty. The cops will only delay and investigate and -generally botch things up until it will be two months and a thousand -years from here." - -"Cops aren't that stupid." - -"Cops aren't stupid at all," she snapped. "They're just smart enough -to insist on knowing all the answers. So tell you what. You go to the -phone and call Lieutenant Yonkers and explain carefully that you've -just shot a Marandanian Marauder in my living room. Tell him you've -collected one of your Great Galactics, only he's defunct. See how far -you'll get!" - -Dusty looked at her blankly. - -"The first stop will be the bull pen," she went on hotly. "The second -stop is the nut-locker. And the third stop is some unknown star a -thousand years from now while the F.B.I. try to match the guy's -fingerprints. Then you call on me for a witness and that gets us the -front page in big black letters saying: 'Former Hero Shoots Rival In -Leading Lady's Boudoir!' Start thinking right, Dusty Britton. Or," she -added scathingly, "call up one of your writers." - -Dusty considered. "I could slope out of here and--" - -"Like hell you will!" she screamed. "You're not leaving me here with a -body to explain." - -"But defending your--" - -Barbara's scorn was high. "Look, Dusty, ever since we were sighted -off-shore in the Buccaneer I haven't had a shred of virtue and -everybody knows it." - -"Trouble is that we can't even run," grumbled Dusty. "This is your -apartment." - -Barbara looked down at Scyth. "Damned nuisance," she said. - -The damned nuisance groaned. The sound was hollow and weak but it -seemed to ring through the room like the cry of a wailing ghost. - -Barbara cried: "He's alive--" - -"--not dead!" blurted Dusty. "Get water and stuff." - - * * * * * - -Slowly they stretched Scyth out on his back, and Barbara went for her -first aid kit while Dusty slid off Scyth's jacket and ripped the shirt -free. The wound looked frightful, but some sponging with hot water and -alcohol reduced the horror to a weeping hole that tried to breathe -blood in and out. It was low on one side, somewhere near the floating -ribs on the right. - -"Flesh wound?" asked Dusty hopefully. - -"I wouldn't know. Maybe." Barbara flipped the pages of a large book -from her library, a book that had not been used much. "It says a -compress." - -Dusty made a pad of bandage and cotton and covered the hole. He taped -it down. Scyth groaned again and Barbara cracked open an inhalant vial -and put the stuff under Scyth's nose. - -"Wh--wha--di' you hi' me wi'?" - -Dusty never knew from where he found the moral strength to be -hard-boiled. But all of a sudden the feeling that this was one hell -of a mess left him; his next feeling was one of confidence and -self-justification. "It's called a belly gun," he said. "But you'll be -all right in a couple of months. Maybe three." - -Scyth tried to struggle up but failed. He fell back and lay there -glaring at them. He gasped, "Cou'le munce?" - -"Sure. Stop crying. It's just a flesh wound." - -"Bu' in cou'le munce--'ll be--bar'rine fiel'--gone--" - -"Take it, Scyth. Sure. It's tough," said Dusty in a cold, -matter-of-fact voice. "You've played and lost, but that's all right. Be -a good loser. You've got a lot of company." - -"Com'any?" - -"Sure. There's millions of guys who've lost their future and their -birthright over the flick of a hemline. We're a primitive sort of -race, old man, but you'll find us both healthy and lusty. Forget -Marandis and your ding-busted beacons. Maybe you can help us build a -spacecraft--after we get through this barytrine business your friends -cooked up for us." - -"Bu' can--mus' not--Chat an' Bren--die--" - -"Nonsense." - -Barbara plucked at Dusty's sleeve. "He's talking about his friends. -Chat and Bren. On Mercury, remember?" - -"Oh, don't worry about them." - -"But don't you see, Dusty? If we go into the barytrine field, and trap -Scyth and his spacecraft with us, his friends will be marooned on -Mercury." - -Dusty nodded quickly. "Sure and that's what I'm counting on. They'll -not start Sol into a variable until Scyth gets back. So--" - -"Don't be blind. They won't start the variable star, but no one can -stop the barytrine field. They'll still be marooned." - -Dusty grinned. "You don't think a gang this advanced would be so dumb -as to leave a couple of their kind marooned on a place like Mercury, do -you? Well, I'll tell you how I've got it figured, Barb. Exactly eight -seconds after Scyth does not land as per schedule, Chat and Bren will -be calling for help on these phanoband things. That'll take care of -them. But as for this guy, let's cheer up. We've got a sort of hostage. -Scyth will be most happy to make a spacecraft for us as soon as he gets -back on his feet. Chat and Bren will, of course, be taken care of some -thousand years before we--" - -Scyth groaned loudly. - -"Huh?" demanded Dusty. - -"S'no-so. Bren an' Chat--alone. No--no--famban--phan'ban'--phanoban' on -Mer'cry. Die--" - -Barbara started to say, "But your company--" but Dusty turned quickly -and slapped a broad hand over her mouth. - -"Shut up," he whispered in her ear swiftly. "He's got to think there is -no help. He's forgotten that someone knows they're here. Play it by ear -and follow my lead." - -"What can you hope to do?" - -"I don't know," said Dusty. "But I'm hoping that I find out." Loud -enough for Scyth to hear, Dusty asked, helplessly, "But what can we do?" - -"Car--ou'side. Spacer. Pocket--map." - - * * * * * - -Dusty made a dive for Scyth's jacket and found a folded road map in -one of the pockets. Like any stranger in a strange land, Scyth had -outlined the route in a heavy blue pencil. His travel was detailed, it -took Dusty no more than a glance to place the location of Scyth's big -spacecraft. - -Scyth rested a moment and then went on: "Hurt--can be doc'or on -Maran'is. Hurry--" - -Dusty grunted. "And who's going to run this spacecraft of yours?" - -"You--easy--" - -Barbara looked at Dusty cynically. "It's your show, Spaceman Officer." -She laughed hysterically again. "Dusty Britton Rides Again!" - -Dusty slapped her across the face to shock her out of it. Then he bent -down to look at Scyth. The compress was soaked with red blood, but it -was not overflowing. Dusty touched it gently and looked up at Scyth's -face. "Hurt?" he asked. - -"Can' tell. Hur' all over." - -"Gonna hurt more, Scyth. C'mon, make a break." - -Dusty put his arm under the Marandanian's shoulder and slowly lifted -him to a sitting position. The man groaned and the compress broke out -in a new flood that ran wet for a moment and then subsided in the -stickiness of clot. - -Dusty lifted Scyth as gently as he could, and with Barbara opening -doors, he carried Scyth to his big car. - -"Why not take his?" she asked. - -"Like mine better," he said with a shake of his head at the -rental-agency model Scyth had come in. - -Barbara found blankets from the trunk and made a soft cushion for Scyth. - -"You take care of him and I'll drive," said Dusty. - -Barbara shook her head. "I--you take care of him and I'll drive." - -"But I know the route." - -"I can read a map as well as you can." - -Scyth opened his eyes wearily, but with a trace of bitter humor he -managed to say, "You take care--of one another--and I'll drive!" - -Then Scyth passed out cold. - - * * * * * - -Four hours' drive into the foothills, far from the lights of -civilization, Dusty found the big spacecraft. It was parked in a small -valley and it was colored so that only a man who knew what he was -seeking and where it was would have found it. - -On the way Scyth babbled about the drive and how to run the big ship. -Happily, Scyth's periods of delirium were easy to separate from his -periods of lucidity, for when Scyth began to babble he talked cynically -about the stupidity of taking four hours to travel less than a couple -of hundred miles when they could cover light-years in the matter of -minutes. Then he would become quite rational and tell Dusty how to -recognize the beacons as they came into sight, and where the charts -were. He had to get back to Marandis, and he told Dusty the way. - -Then his mind would wander a bit and Scyth would chuckle quietly -over something entirely removed from spacemanship. Then would come a -discussion of the levers that must be turned and the meters that must -be watched; how to turn the correct knob or to push the proper pedal. -He spoke of cautions, too. They must not turn on the space drive until -the ship had warmed for a certain length of time (which the menslator -interpreted to Dusty as a vague quantity of minutes. To be safe, Dusty -would wait twice that long) and then Scyth would lapse again. - -But as the drive went on, Scyth's periods of lucidity waned. His -moments of babbling dropped too; and between them both came longer and -longer periods of dead silence and heavy breathing. - -Yet by the time Dusty drove his car underneath one tailfin, he had a -fair idea of how to run the spacecraft. - - - - - VIII - - -Dusty carried Scyth to the salon and dropped him on a divan. He left -Barbara to take care of the Marandanian while he went aloft into the -control room to take over. - -Once inside the room Dusty stopped short. - -He was a Hottentot in a powerhouse, a savage in a Plutonium refining -plant, a tone-deaf idiot standing before a four-console organ. There -were meters and switches and levers and toggles, neatly mounted on -gleaming black panels and clearly lettered in shining white. He stared -at a pilot lamp labeled :æ:*Ͼ;Å“*Å“ and wondered foolishly whether the -gleam of red meant that the spaceport was still open or whether it -signaled that smoking was forbidden for the time being. - -[Illustration: He was a Hottentot in a power house, a savage in a -Plutonium refining plant.] - -And Dusty was supposed to drive this. - -Stunned, Dusty dropped into the pilot's chair and looked around him -in a completely dazed manner. Below his feet were pedals and just -below the surface of the slanting panel were a pair of knee-flappers -that could be pressed without losing the thrust on a foot pedal. The -desk-thing was studded with large levers mounted in curve-segments all -carefully marked in the calibrations of the Marandanian language. To -his left was a panel filled with push-buttons from the floor to the -level above his head where his long arm could reach without standing -up. To his right was a similar panel. Dead ahead was a flat plate that -looked like frosted glass and seemed to Dusty about as useful. It -neither glowed, nor showed a spot of color other than the very logical -reticule-lines which were to be used for aiming the ship. Above the -plate of glass was a line of meters and another line of them below. - -Dusty shivered. No matter in which way he reached he could touch -buttons, or thumb levers or turn dials. - -Doubtless the competent Marandanian pilot played this console like a -pianist--strictly from practise. A mere matter of training; when the -concert master calls for 'A' the musician automatically reaches for the -right position and drops his forefinger. - -This was no instrument to play by ear. - -Or--was it? - -"Barb!" - -"Yes, Dusty?" - -"Barb, find that damned menslator and bring it up here. It might--" - -A moment later she came up the stairs with the small instrument in -her hands. She gasped as she saw the array of controls and asked, "I -thought he said it was easy?" - -"To him," growled Dusty. He fitted the menslator on his shoulder by -its strap and fiddled with the controls. He hit one setting that made -Barbara cry out inexplicably (which irritated him) and then he found -another setting that made him feel like a hundred and seventy pounds of -toothache (then he forgave Barbara) and after some more fiddling with -the tuning and the gain Dusty hit the right setting. - -Everything became clear to him. - -Directly in front of him was a meter that read "Rhenic Doubler Current" -and to one side was a lever labelled "Phanoband Isolator" and some -push-buttons marked "Polylateral Overload Reset" and "Primary Exchange -Test." The rest, too, were very logical but equally meaningless. "Drive -Pulse Synchronizer" must have some definite function because it was a -large lever almost in the middle of the desk-panel and what one did -with it was undoubtedly taught in the first grade of spaceman's school. - -There was a large and interesting handwheel labelled "Drive Angle Trim" -which Dusty gathered to be the gizmo used to equalize the drivers so -the ship wouldn't yaw in flight, but he was not quite sure. There was -another called the "Pre-flight Check Sequence" which probably checked -the multitudinous functions of the instruments as it was turned from -position to position, but what it did or what it told the pilot made no -never-mind to Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol. - - * * * * * - -There was one that he recognized instantly. It said, reading from left -to right "Off, Warm-up, Stand-by, Operate." It was a big four-position -hand-lever and it was a good idea, excepting what did Dusty do next? - -"Can Scyth help?" pleaded Dusty. - -"He's out cold like a Northern Light. Lost blood and--" - -"But how'm I to run this godawful thing?" - -"I don't know," said Barbara doubtfully. "Try something." - -"What?" he asked. - -She pointed to a small button high on the front panel beside the glazed -plate. It said, "SC/WBN-3 Phanoband 22". - -Dusty looked at the nameplate and the menslator helped him translate -the nameplate into "Space, Commercial/Non-adjustable, High-power, -Emergency--Model Three. Phanoband Twenty-Two." - -Dusty looked at Barbara and shrugged. This was an emergency, so Dusty -put out a forefinger and pressed the button. - -A pilot lamp winked from blue to red and a meter on the forepanel rose. -There was a momentary whirring from far below in the big star ship and -then along the bottom of the ground-glass looking window in front of -him, a small circle began to grow luminous. A man's face appeared. - -He was obviously in some sort of uniform; it had that air. The collar -was high and the effect was uncomfortable. A pair of gold diagrams -glistened on one shoulder. The man looked human enough to be the local -desk-sergeant in costume dress. As soon as the little circle was -completely clear he said tersely: - -"Distress Call received. Identify yourself, state your position, define -your danger, and estimate the time remaining in which you have a factor -of safety." - -Dusty blinked and then looked at Barbara. She shrugged. Dusty shrugged -back and said, "Are you Marandis?" - -"This is Marandis Emergency. Identify yourself, state your pos--" - -"Stop talking like a robot--or are you a robot?" - -"I am not! What is the meaning of this? Using a distress-call band -for--" - -"This is a distress call," snapped Dusty. "And part of the distress is -that I can't identify myself because I don't know the language." - -"You'll have--" - -"The other part of the distress is that the man who knows all about -this is likely to die of a bad accident if he is not given medical -attention. So now you know, tell me what to do next." - -"Who are you?" - -"I am Dusty Britton, if that means anything." - -"I don't know you." - -"Of course not. I've never been to Marandis. I'm not a Marandanian, -just a character of the race your play-mates term 'Backward,' and/or -'Primitive.' But you better do something fast." - -"What is the name of the injured party?" - -"Scyth Radnor." - -"Then your identity is Exploration License K-221-Y. I know Radnor. -I must get you off the distress band. Please switch to Space -Communications, Band Forty-Five. I--" - -"Wait," said Dusty quickly. "As a member of another solar culture you -must be aware of the fact that I am not familiar with your equipment. -Which knob do I twist and how far?" - -The Marandanian gave Dusty instructions and waited for a second small -circle to appear beside the first, with a different face in it. This -face was older and not in uniform. The man said, "Please explain the -nature of your difficulty. I am Gant Nerley." - -As well as he could, under the circumstances, Dusty explained his -predicament. - -"I see," said Gant Nerley thoughtfully. "This is a rather complex -problem to solve. Can you state your location?" - -"Hardly." - -"I suppose not. If we don't know where you are from here, the chance -that a non-galactic culture would know where we are from there is -indeed remote." - -"Haven't you a filed plan of operations?" demanded Dusty, using a tone -of voice that indicated that he thought that any culture above the -level of the ape wouldn't let people go galloping all over the galaxy, -tearing up stars and ruining scenery without first having filed a -program and had such program approved by twenty-seven signatures. - -"There is a filed plan," said Nerley defensively. "But naturally it is -sealed as a matter of protection for the company." - -"And no provision for emergency?" - -"Only by the consent of the licensed company." - -"Then you'd better call a conference at once. Scyth isn't going to last -long enough for you to comb the galaxy for us." - -"That's why it might be better to let the barytrine field run to -completion." - - * * * * * - -Dusty's voice grew hard. "I wish you birds would stop tossing off a -thousand years of our life with the flick of a finger," he said. - -"What difference does it make? You'd not notice it, and--" - -"Who says so?" snapped Dusty, his irritation mounting. - -"Time is of importance only when its passage can be measured in -reference to outside events. You have no contact with outside events. -Therefore it makes no difference whether you come in contact with us -now or a thousand years from now, so long as the same people of your -culture are involved." - -"Now see here--" - -"Permit me to present an example. If the barytrine field went on at -this instant, one thousand years from now my successor would pick up -the thread of the conversation from the recording we are making, and -take on from here. As far as you are concerned the only difference -would be a sudden flick of the viewscreen and a rather abrupt change -in the facial characteristics of your conferee." Gant Nerley waited -a moment to let the point sink in. "Now, since you and I have very -little in common, it should make little difference to you whether you -spoke to me or to someone else. And as far as I am concerned, I feel -the same. I have long since ceased feeling regretful that I cannot -retain friendship with the hundreds of thousands of people with whom I -must converse. I have almost stopped being regretful of the fact that -there are so many worlds that no single lifetime would permit a visit -to more than a fraction. I suggest that you try to take a more lasting -attitude. You sound as though the troubles of a world you never saw -were of prime importance to you." - -"Look," said Dusty testily, "A lot of what you claim may be true. But -we have a couple of thousand years of observational data on the planets -and the nearby stars. You may take a thousand years out of our lives in -the twinkle of a second, but then we spend another five hundred on top -of that finding out where we are." - -"You have time." - -"We have not!" roared Dusty. "Move us to a new system and I'll tell you -what'll happen. Before we can make a move into space we have to chart -the new system completely, because we admit that our reaction motors -are not efficient enough to take off without a well precharted course. -We must know the orbits of the planets to a fine degree before we dare. -Then, before we can make a try for the stars, we've got to spend years -and years in observation before we can chart the nearest stars and -observe whether or not they might have planets, our astronomy will be -put back. Now--" - -"Pardon me, but the information I have regarding your system is before -me. Your space travel is primitive and any form of real commerce is as -yet impossible. This I get from the license application for barytrine -operations. Now, how can you justify your statements about interstellar -travel?" - -Dusty Britton, no matter what else, was a good actor any time he -could sit in with a large Virginia Ham to carve. Dusty would never -play Hamlet or Julius Caesar; a custard pie in the face was closer to -Dusty's art than John Barrymore. This fact provided for Dusty a rather -interesting background for the present argument. A student of science -could not have faced Gant Nerley without paying deference to the -Marandanian's obviously superior knowledge, position and experience. -The learned man makes no flat-footed statements; this leads to the odd -belief that most learned men are not entirely sure of themselves. It is -the bird who is ignorant of all the myriad things that he does not know -that can afford to stand up on his hind feet and reel off chapter and -verse as though there could be no rebuttal. - - * * * * * - -So Dusty Britton, who could portray a reasonably convincing role of a -wounded hero while mentally contemplating how long it would be before -the first preprandial martini, plus being the flamboyant type who never -lets a few facts stop his flow of words, was not abashed to let on that -he knew a lot more than the Marandanian suspected. Furthermore, Dusty -felt that he had Gant Nerley on the defensive, and if he could put the -Marandanian off balance long enough to accomplish something, Dusty did -not care if Nerley accused him of being a four-flusher at some later -date. - -Keeping this in mind, Dusty braced himself with little effort and tried -to reduce to bafflegab what he recalled of Scyth Radnor's previous -statements. - -"Interstellar travel is, of course, based upon obvious errors in the -theoretical mathematics of general relativity," said Dusty, as though -he were reciting some of the science-double-talk usually included in -Dusty Britton And The Space Patrol. "Of the many schools of thought -which have their own theories on how to explain these obvious errors, -the group-velocity field seems to be the most successful. But all -of them are seeking some evidence to support their theories, and a -couple of them, namely the gravitic and the magnetic-field proponents -claim that such evidence has already supported their claim. Now, if -such is the case, you know it will not be long before some practical -experiment will disprove the illogic of providing a finite limit to an -infinite system. Once this has been established it seems obvious that -star-travel is the next step." - -"Hmmm--I see. This is a situation that must be considered more -carefully. May I ask, Dusty Britton, what is your position in your -society?" - -"I am Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol," said Dusty with the proper -tone of respect. "Commander in Chief of the Junior Division." - -"Indeed! A real Space Patrol!" - -Dusty nodded at the viewscreen. "It may be a bit ambitious," he -remarked with even more deference, carefully studied. "But we feel -that there is small point in using a conservative name and then having -to change it every couple of years." - -"Quite a sensible attitude." - -Dusty nodded again. "Fact is," he said deprecatingly, "we would -probably be quite a bit more advanced in our space operations if our -sister planets were not so inimical to human life. As it is, our -extra-planetary operations are limited and will be limited until we can -provide the necessary conversions to terrestrial conditions." - -Gant Nerley nodded back. "Man is not an adaptable animal," he observed. -"He does not change himself to suit his environment; he changes his -environment to suit himself." - -"That's what I mean." - -"Then why do you object so much to this barytrine field?" asked Gant -Nerley. "We can always pick you a stellar group less inimical to human -life and thus advance you faster." - -Dusty grunted under his breath. He had talked too much. "Buster," he -said angrily, "logic like that will only get you a fat lip." - -Gant Nerley blinked. "Tell me, Dusty, was Scyth Radnor hurt in some -altercation over this beacon?" - - * * * * * - -By this time Dusty figured that he might as well let Gant Nerley have -it cold and hard. It would show Gant that the mighty Marandanian was no -more distant from the lusty chimpanzee than the terrestrian. - -"No," he said flatly, "Scyth was plugged for monkeying around another -man's woman." - -Gant said, "Deplorable," in a tone of voice that indicated an amused -disgust, but not easily identified as to whether over the act itself or -the business of being caught at it. "What happened?" - -"The other guy shot first," said Dusty, feeling that this was no time -to point out that it was he that pulled the trigger. - -"I'm not surprised. Most primitives are inclined to be both hot-headed -and impulsive." - -"Tell me," asked Dusty in a cooing voice, "did Scyth confine his amours -to primitives, or is it the custom among Marandanians to consider your -mate unattractive unless she can prove it by bedding down with an -impressive list of lovers?" - -"I don't understand," replied Gant Nerley stiffly. - -"Against primitives I can understand Scyth carrying a weapon to his -assignation, for protection against the irate cuckold. Tell me, Gant -Nerley, has your emotional balance become so stable that you can take a -more scholarly view of promiscuity? Or," added Dusty sharply, "do you -have big black headlines about triangle slayings and love-nest scandals -just like the rest of humanity?" - -"Well, now, we--" - -"Then don't blame us primitive souls for slugging a guy that's caught -off base!" snapped Dusty. "Now, what are we going to do about Scyth?" - -"Regardless of his depredations against propriety, he must be given -medical attention." - -"This I will go along with. How shall we start? I can always take him -to one of our hospitals." - -"No. No! You must not." - -"Why not? We're quite competent on gunshot wounds. We're probably more -used to them than you are, as primitives with impulse and hot blood." - -"Please. Let's not be facetious over any man's misfortune." - -"In blunt words, the life of a character caught in an awkward situation -is more important than someone else losing their familiar stellar -scenery and a couple of thousand years of climb up from the swamp of -ignorance?" - -"That is another question which I'm sure we can solve. Now--" - -"Look," said Dusty firmly, "you agree to take measures for our safety -and we'll agree to take measures for Scyth's. Do you understand exactly -what I mean or shall I explain in very blunt words?" - -"That is blackmail." - -"It's worse than that. But we're primitive, and therefore lacking in -refinement. As far as I am concerned, Transgalactic can keep their -secret of our position locked in their sealed file. Scyth can die, and -Bren and Chat can spend the rest of their lives marooned on Mercury." - -"No. That wouldn't be right. You must bring Scyth back home." - -"That's a fine idea! May I suggest that your ship is not as familiar as -mine?" Dusty did not mention that the only control room he was familiar -with was the one on the Gramer Production Lot, which was an aggregation -of fantastic levers and flashing lights and futuristic three-phase -busbars which had a most profound effect upon the imagination of the -youth of the land but no effect upon space whatsoever. - -"This can be taken care of. As a spaceman, you can understand the -principles. They are simple. You can follow directions for flight." - -"Yes? And which way do I go from here?" - -"Not so fast. First, Dusty Britton, tell me the present condition of -Scyth Radnor." - -"Wait." - - * * * * * - -Dusty went below. Scyth was in a state of shock. His temperature "taken -with the flat of Dusty's hand" was chill--and there was a film of -perspiration wetting Scyth's body. The breathing was shallow and the -face was pale. Scyth's pulse was weak and the heartbeat thin. - -Dusty turned a light blanket over the Marandanian and then went back to -report. - -Gant Nerley said, "In the salon you will find a medicine cabinet. The -instructions are simple, any intelligent being with a menslator should -be able to follow them concisely. How is the bleeding?" - -"Stopped. Clotted by now." - -"Take care of Scyth, Dusty Britton. We'll figure out something for you." - -"How about this barytrine field that's running away with itself?" - -"We'll stop it. Behind you on the auxiliary panel you will see a knob -and a pilot lamp, probably orange colored. Turn the knob to the left." - -Dusty did, and the lamp went out. - -"That's it. I see that Scyth has the usual sloppy habits of his kind. -No label. According to space regulations the operator is supposed to -slip a label into the frame above the auxiliary control whenever he has -anything extra set up. I'll mark that oversight down on Scyth Radnor's -record. Now--" - -"What about Chat and Bren and that variable-star maker?" - -Gant Nerley grunted. "If they're not keeping a close eye on the -barytrine field detector, so they can shut off their own equipment -when it fails, I'll revoke their licenses! They must be looking at the -temporal field, or at least keeping watch." - -"We hope." - -Gant nodded thoughtfully. "Now," he said, "this being an emergency, -I'll open their course-plan so that I can direct you through space. -Don't turn off the viewpanel, Dusty. I'll be back in a few minutes." - - - - - IX - - -As soon as Gant Nerley's face disappeared from the viewpanel, Dusty -turned to face Barbara. She was standing far to one side, out of range -of the viewpanel, and stifling a giggle. She let it bubble through her -fingers as soon as Dusty caught her eye. - -"Funny as hell," he said. "Me--I'm hysterical." - -Barbara sobered immediately. "Honest, Dusty. I wasn't laughing at you. -I was laughing with you." - -"Why?" he demanded sharply. - -"Because you really fooled that bird. Dusty Britton of The Space -Patrol. Yes, I can navigate a ship." - -"I'm going to. Want out?" - -"I wouldn't miss this for the world. Glad we've got the whole galaxy -for you to make mistakes in." - -"Stop making fun," he snapped. "Let's try and think of something -sensible, Barb. Too bad we haven't time to take a run back to the -city." - -"What good would that do?" - -"Well, you could show 'em that bauble you're wearing and I could try -the menslator out on 'em, and maybe between us we could convince 'em -that there's something more in this tale of mine than wind." - -"That's an idea, but it's out." - -"I know. But--" - -"Dusty, you'll have to carry it to Gant Nerley yourself." - -"Carry what?" - -Barbara shook her head impatiently. "Think!" she cried. "Dusty, this -license might be rescinded if we can show that Sol has evolved above -the minimum level of acceptability." - -"Yes?" - -"Then go in there with your head up and let 'em know how we're built." - -Dusty waved at the field of instruments on the control position. "Open -my yap and let 'em know how ignorant we are? We should have a couple of -scientists along." - -Barbara shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "One of the marks of a -real scientist is that he usually considers that he knows a lot less -than he does. You're better off. You don't know enough to confuse -yourself. Besides, Dusty, you're an actor." - -"Um--er--Jeeks! Hang on a mo' will you? I've an idea." - -Dusty loped down the stairs to his car and opened the compartment -behind the front seat. It was his emergency kit; it held his Dusty -Britton uniform, the complete regalia of The Space Patrol complete with -Dusty Britton 'Blaster' concealed against the days when Dusty found -himself trapped in public and could not appear out of character. - -He changed in the car and went back to the control room. - -Barbara took one look at him and nodded slowly. "You're a gaudy sight," -she said. "But maybe that's what it takes." - -Dusty slapped the 'Blaster' at his hip. "I look authentic enough except -for this hunk of hardware," he said. "Hell, it isn't even as useful as -a dress sword." - -"Your revolver? Oh--still on my living room floor." - -Dusty unbelted the holster. "I shouldn't have to go armed everywhere, -should I?" - -"I suppose not." - -"All right, then. How do I look?" - - * * * * * - -Barbara smiled thinly, "Dusty, no one on earth would ever accuse you -of being anything but a Hollywood actor in that get-up. But a man from -halfway across the Galaxy itself might not know about these things. You -might be an Admiral of the Swiss Navy. You're impressive-looking. Just -don't get pompous." - -"Just you remember that I'm Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol and don't -giggle when I start dishing it out." - -"I won't. After all, I call myself an actress, you know." She looked -nervously at the viewpanel. - -"Are you all right?" he demanded. - -"Yes. I'm nervous but I'll be all right." - -Dusty went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Take a deep -breath," he commanded. She did. "Now let it out slowly." She did that, -too. "Now," he said softly, slipping an arm around her and leading -her to the stairway, "You come down below and relax. Pull yourself -together, Barb. We'll make it--somehow." - -"Got any ideas?" - -"Not yet. But--" - -Above, the voice of Gant Nerley came back. Dusty raced aloft and -apologized for having been absent. Gant was nodding with admiration at -something below the level of the view panel, probably something on the -desk. - -Gant looked up after a moment and said, "Dusty Britton, this is really -a remarkable route. Truly fantastic. So well hidden, and yet right -within our grasp all of these centuries! Well, you shall see, Dusty. -And doubtless you will agree." - -"Okay," said Dusty, "let's get going." - -"Not so fast, young man. I'm waiting for the direction-finding stations -to report so that I can determine where along this prospected route you -lie." - -"We're about two-thirds of the way out from the center, I believe," -offered Dusty. - -"That's a rather inaccurate generality. You know where you are and -we know where we are, but we must know where we are with respect -to one another before we can make contact. Now--" Gant's voice -stopped suddenly as something caught his eye above the lens of the -viewpanel, and he looked over Dusty's head, apparently, so intently -that Dusty himself turned to see what Gant was staring at. He saw -only instruments, and realized that Gant was looking at another -panel-section above the one that communicated with Dusty's panel. - -"Um," said Gant. "You would appear to lie in what we call 'Sector -G-18, Co-ordinate 307, Galactic Angle 215.86-plus degrees, South -altitude-angle 1.017-minus degrees, Co-frame 9654.' Now, Dusty, in your -terms, where lies the Galactic Center?" - -Dusty laughed. The tone of his laugh was half bitter and half a note of -self-disparagement. "Sorry, Gant. We frame our reference from Terra, -naturally." - -Dusty breathed a sigh of relief at having boned up on enough science to -play his part convincingly. - -"I do not quite understand what you mean," returned Gant. - -"We compute stellar positions in latitude from the angle above or below -the equator of Terra, which we call 'Declination' and in longitude by -their rise as the planet rotates, which we call 'Right Ascension'. -Therefore the so-called 'Celestial equator' is a projection of the -Earth's equator upon the sky, and the colures pass from celestial pole -to celestial pole, which are projections of Terra's axis. Now, since -the Earth's equator is tilted with respect to the Earth's orbit, and -the Earth's orbit is tilted with respect to the Galactic Equator, I'll -be darned if I know how to explain in mutual terms. Oh, we assume that -the galactic center is in a region of the sky we call 'Sagittarius' but -that is meaningless." - -"I agree. Wait a moment." - - * * * * * - -Gant turned from the window in Dusty's viewpanel and walked away from -it by several yards. He worked over a complicated keyboard for some -minutes and then returned. - -"Dusty," he said, "I think we can handle this as follows. To your left -hand near the top of the control board you will find a key-lever marked -Phanobeacon. Pull it towards you." - -Dusty looked, found the key, and pulled. A bright spot of light -appeared on the view panel, high in the left hand corner. "That is the -true position of Marandis," said Gant Nerley. "If you tried to make it -at transgalactic speeds you'd plough into about forty stars and hit -about nineteen gas-clouds. You'd either blow up, or spend the rest of -your life running at safe velocities. However, if you take off and -steer your spacecraft so as to put that beacon spot on the calibration -lines G-705, F-318, you should find the next rift-beacon somewhere near -to the crosshairs of the viewpanel. Got it?" - -"I think so." - -"Good. Now, for take-off instructions. Ready?" - -"Ready." - -Gant Nerley began a running patter of instructions. Those favored few -who have ever seen the control room of a spacecraft can possibly grasp -the implications of the problem. One does not step into the pilot's -chair of a complex device such as a galactic cruiser, push a pedal -and then steer any more than a Wall Street Accountant could step into -the cockpit of a six-engine airliner and take off, just like that. -There was the pre-flight checkoff, probably performed by the competent -Marandanian Pilot in a matter of minutes, and quite possibly done with -an automatic reflex action which would permit the accomplished pilot -to daydream about the girl on the next planet meanwhile; only the -appearance of the wrong pilot-lamp response would bring him out of his -automatic response with an abrupt recognition of something awry. - - * * * * * - -But Dusty was not a pilot, and certainly not a pilot of a Marandanian -Spacecraft. So the pre-flight checkoff took almost an hour. Nearly -ninety-nine percent of the time Dusty was following Gant Nerley's -instructions blindly: Is the pilot lamp registering power source -showing red or green? Is the spacelock indicator showing closed? Turn -the atmosphere control to Internal. Set the autogravity corrector to -Controlled. Co-stator circuits to Regulated; antimagnetic response dial -to zero; space-coordinate servo control to Stellar Display. Planetary -Drive to Automatic Threshold; match the Gravitic Constant to the Power -Delivery. Set the Master Control to Pre-flight Warm-up. - -"Now," said Gant Nerley, "take it slow and easy. Take the 'Tee' bar -gently. Find the thumb-buttons and press them both evenly; spread -your knees against the paddles under the control panel slowly and -press the Force pedal with your right foot. Tell me, what is your -trans-atmospheric velocity?" - -"It says 416." - -"Too high. Press the Compensator pedal with your left foot until the -TAV meter reads 312." - -"Now." - -"Hold it that way until the Matter Per Cubic Meter indicator drops -below the red line." - -"The TAV meter is dropping below 312." - -"Good. Let up on the Compensator pedal and depress the Force pedal -more. Keep the TAV meter at 312." - -"The Matter Per Cubic Meter indicator is below the red line, Gant." - -"Free the Compensator pedal. Push the Force pedal all the way home and -kick it to the right. Now read the Trans-atmospheric velocity meter." - -"Dropping rapidly." - -"Good. And the MCPM?" - -"Dropping rapidly." - -"Excellent. Spread the knee-paddles wide and lock them. Have you a -reading yet on the Space Velocity Meter?" - -"Just getting off the peg." - -"Um--it is a little early. But that's all right. It will arrive in due -time. Keep an eye on the Foreign Body Indicator, Dusty. Any reading?" - -"No." - -"Good. Don't touch the 'Tee' bar, Dusty. That's the steering mechanism -and it is in neutral. Is there any indication on the viewpanel yet?" - -"Not yet." - -"Haven't enough velocity yet," said Gant. "But when it appears, it -will look like a star map. Now, the central cross-hair is the point of -aim of your spacecraft. If the star you want lies, say, to the upper -left, move the 'Tee' bar forward and to your left. That will swing the -ship in that direction and you can line up the drive with the target. -Also, since angular position is important when moving in three free -dimensions, twisting the crossbar of the 'Tee' will cause the ship to -rotate on its axis. The map will turn in the direction, apparently, but -it is really the ship turning. That is--" - -"I'm beginning to get a presentation now," said Dusty. - -"Good. Dim and reddish, isn't it?" - -"Yes." - -"Fine. Now get this straight and clear: The phanobeacon is the control -beacon for direction of angular curve. In other words, it takes three -points to define the orientation of a plane in space. These three -points are you, the star-beacon or course-marker which you will find -directly, and the main terminal-beacon which is the phanobeacon. You -must drive your ship in the proper plane when making a curve or making -any turn. Follow?" - -"Yes," replied Dusty, trying to think it out. He was far from certain -about all this, wondering why it was all necessary. He went over the -instructions in his mind, made no more sense out of it than the first -time, and then decided to accept it without trying to figure out the -reasons. After all, Gant Nerley and his folks ought to know what they -were doing. - -"Now," said Gant, after a moment, "In order to orient yourself, you -must line up the Phanobeacon on the point of aim. Take the 'Tee' bar -firmly, one hand on either side of the axle. Find the thumb-buttons on -the handle. Press them all the way in and lock them home with a slight -sidewise pressure towards the center. Got that? Now, lift the 'Tee' -bar straight up until it is high enough to manipulate with ease. Be -careful, don't move it sidewise!" - - * * * * * - -The last admonition was wasted. Dusty lifted the 'Tee' bar gingerly and -not too evenly. The stars on the viewpanel danced dizzily, swiveled, -and flowed across the plate. The bright phanobeacon spot moved from -the plate along the bottom, danced back in view on a brief curve, and -left again along a flat slant. The 'Tee' bar clicked into place and the -stars stopped dancing with a snap. Dusty moved the 'Tee' bar gently and -the stars flowed upward until the phanobeacon re-appeared. - -"Got it," he said shakily. He moved the 'Tee' bar very gently until the -phanobeacon was centered on the screen. Or, rather, almost centered. It -moved in jerky little circles like the sights of a rifle in the hands -of a tyro. - -"Fine. You're doing well with strange equipment. Now, on the panel -you will find a switch marked 'Co-ordinates.' It will be set on -'Rectangular' and you must flip it to 'Polar'." - -The switch changed the cross-hair pattern of the viewpanel from the -horizontal and vertical calibrations to a circular pattern with only -the main center hairlines remaining. Angle-lines radiated out from the -center, crossing the circles. - -"Now, Dusty, inspect the radius-line marked G-705. All the way around. -Do you see a winking star?" - -"No." - -"Um. I was hoping we could do it the easy way. The sealed course-plan -is not too clear, for which I don't blame Transgalactic. All right. -We'll have to do it the hard way. Move the phanobeacon down until it is -almost on the lower edge of the viewpanel. Now flip the 'Co-ordinates' -switch to the left, leaving it in the bottom position marked 'Polar.' -You'll find that the toggle has an 'H' type pattern of motion, laid -flat-wise." - -The polar co-ordinates disappeared completely from the center of the -viewpanel and centered around the phanobeacon spot. They made larger -and larger arcs as the circles approached the top of the panel. - -"Now this is going to be tricky. You must twist the 'Tee' bar slowly -and let the ship rotate, but you must also move it so that the -phanobeacon stays near its present off-center position. But before you -do this, let me explain what you are actually doing in space. Picture a -needle-shaped spacecraft with a line along the axis running out before -the ship, marking the line of drive, or direction. At some distance -from the line lies a spot which denotes the phanobeacon. Somewhere out -beyond, there is another spot that must be sighted within the confines -of an angle not greater than the angle made between the point of aim, -or line of drive, and the imaginary line running from the nose of the -ship to the phanobeacon. So you must cause the ship to rotate on a -false axis, making the line of flight describe a cone of revolution -with the phanobeacon on the axis of the cone. Now, go ahead and try." - -"Okay." Dusty moved the 'Tee' bar and the stars moved in jaggledy -little scallops along a greater arc. The center of the beacon held the -polar lines, but they moved with the stars and with the beacon. It made -Dusty dizzy and his eyes began to ache. "What am I looking for?" he -asked plaintively. - -"Look along the outer circles for a winking st--" - -"Got it!" - -"Good. Turn the 'Tee' bar to neutral," said Gant. "Return the -'Co-ordinate' switch back to the center of the 'H' pattern. Center the -stellar course beacon on the point of aim." - -The winking star flashed at Dusty like a flag. It danced crazily as -he manipulated the 'Tee' bar with all of the thumb-handedness of the -rookie pilot on his first attempt at the controls. There was so much to -do, so many things to handle, so many motions to make. Dusty gripped -the 'Tee' bar tightly, too tightly. When he let go with one hand to -flip a switch or to make an adjustment, the grip of his other hand -moved the bar. It became sweaty and sticky, then it became slippery -and he gripped it even tighter, which made it worse because his fine -control left him as he strove to hold the handles tighter and tighter. - -In a jagged line like the trail of a rising smoke, the winking star -proceeded to the center of the viewpanel. There it hung, wabbling -around in tiny circles and occasionally making a brief jerky dart -to one side or the other. Dusty mopped his face and the beacon star -jumped; he grabbed the handle again and the star leaped across the -center and wabbled on the other side of zero-zero. - -"Got it," he said in a quavering voice. - -"Now rotate the ship until the phanobeacon is on the vertical hairline. -Then flip the switch to 'Rectangular' again." - -The stars scalloped around in the viewpanel until the phanobeacon -was on the vertical line. The field leaped a bit as Dusty found the -'Co-ordinates' switch and returned the calibration-presentation to the -horizontal and vertical hairlines. - -"Now?" he asked. - -"You have a bit of time. Be certain that the star-marker lies firm and -true. Be careful!" - -Dusty gripped the handles and tried to steady his shaking hands. Then, -because he had no more complexity of motions to make, he relaxed a bit. -The dancing star-field slowed its mad vibration, which calmed Dusty's -jumping nerves still more. - -He leaned back in the pilot's chair slowly, his grip on the 'Tee' bar -lightening and becoming more true. He looked at the beacon star and -knew what Chat, Bren, and Scyth were working toward. - - * * * * * - -It lay there on the center of his panel like a winking flashlight. Lost -in the star-field, which showed a myriad of points, some dim cloudy -stuff, and a band of milky white, the beacon would have been nothing -without that steady wink ... wink ... wink. He, himself, was lost. He -had not the foggiest notion of where he was, excepting that Mother -Terra must be far behind. Sol, a smallish, yellowish, completely average -dwarf would show nothing to call attention to itself from the distance -of a few light-years. Yes, somewhere back behind him lay Sol and his -planets. But the winking beacon on Dusty's viewpanel was like a banner -waved from a distant shore. - -No man is alone so long as a lighthouse flashes its message of safety, -or warns against danger. - -Dusty took a deep breath. "Barb!" he called. - -She came up the ladder. "Call me?" - -"How's Scyth?" he asked. - -"He's doing all right. How're you doing?" - -Dusty nodded boyishly. "Look, Maw I'm flyin'," he told her with a -chuckle. "Martin Gramer should see me now. This is simple like a duck's -ear, and I--" - -Barbara screamed and Dusty whipped his head back to look along the -direction of her horrified eyes. To the viewpanel. - -One of the stars, lost in the glitter of the distant background had -detached itself from the immobile sky. It was moving, forward, and its -glow was brightening. It came hurtling towards them like a white hot -cannonball. One second it was no more than any other star, distant, -aloof, and cold. Then it had exploded into a disc that expanded like a -released puff of gas. It came toward them like a ball of fire hurled -into their faces. - -Dusty yelped and twisted on the 'Tee' bar and the stars rolled dizzily -across the plate--but not until the white hot monster had flipped past -in a quick wave of heat and a final flare of light which made a small -section in the back of Dusty's mind recall the effect of having a -foil-filled flashbulb fired during a still photography session. - -Shaking, Dusty's grip on the 'Tee' bar tightened and he moved the lever -in tight little jerks until the stars returned to the proper positions -and the Phanobeacon was properly centered. - -Gant's face showed concern. "What happened, Dusty?" - -Dusty told the Marandanian, and Gant smiled knowingly. "Don't worry -about it. It will happen again and again, and maybe worse. But so long -as you keep the course beacon centered properly, you will pass by--and -not through--those interfering stars. Now, as soon as your beacon star -shows a disc, steer up to keep the beacon centered on Line H-001. Once -you pass the beacon, look for another beacon on Line F-312 and bring -the point-of-drive to center on the new one. Follow?" - -Dusty nodded at Gant's image on the screen along the bottom of the -viewpanel. Another star detached itself from the backdrop of stars -and hurled itself into Dusty's teeth. The actor flinched but held his -drive. The star passed in a bright flash and a quick wave of heat and -was gone. Dusty licked dry lips and forced the grip of his hands to -relax. Far to one side another star passed in a majestic sweep, too -distant to bring them either heat or more light than the ones called -'fixed' on the viewpanel. - -Dusty eyed the star-beacon suspiciously. Was it showing a disc yet? -And how much time did he have to shift the drive once the disc became -certain? Dusty felt a cold wave wriggle down his spine and he knew that -cold beads of sweat were beginning to ooze out of his face; he was -remembering the staggering speed with which the first star had come -leaping at him. - - * * * * * - -Another star passed him in its characteristic wave of light and heat, -and Dusty realized that what looked dangerously close on the viewpanel -was in reality quite distant. It meant that so long as his ship was -pointed into a clear space, there would be no danger of running into a -star no matter how precarious it looked. - -But the cold sweat came because the beacon star lay winking at him dead -in the intersection of the crosshairs that marked the drive. - -Disc? Did it show a disc? Does Sirius show more of a disc than Polaris? - -Dusty's hands pulled the 'Tee' bar slightly to move the winking eye -ever so subtly upward. That way he would not be aiming his spacecraft -dead into the searing hot maw of a variable star. He took a shaky -breath and relaxed. - -Gant Nerley shook his head. "I see what you are doing, Dusty, and you -must not. You'll make a wide curve and get off the beam. Or worse, -you'll hit a star lying close to the course. You have no idea of how -wide you'll run. Center it up, Dusty, and keep a close watch, for it -will become a disc. You'll have time. Relax." - -Reluctantly Dusty returned the 'Tee' bar to the central position, and -the star winked through the crosshairs at him, itself no larger in -diameter than the width of one line. It was not obscured by the lines -because of the construction of the panel, a design that Dusty could not -quite understand. Dark lines should have hidden the stars behind them, -but on this gadget they did not. He looked closer and found that the -stars themselves lay on top of the lines rather than under them, and -he wondered how they managed that stunt. It was, of course, a matter -of design. Dusty's experience had been with small telescopes, but this -device was not an optical device, so the simple laws of optics did -not obtain. As he watched, the winking star became a winking disc and -Dusty's nerves twitched. - -When had the change started? Dusty realized that he had been -half-hypnotized by the wink ... wink ... wink that meant both safety -and ultimate danger. The disc was expanding rapidly, and as Dusty -tried to move the disc to Line H-001, the edge of the winking beacon -expanded faster than the point of aim moved. He wrenched the 'Tee' bar -hard and saw the crosshairs move sluggishly below the exploding circle. -Then the beacon flashed past in a wave of heat far greater than any of -the other stars, and he was blinded by the light for a second or more. -But as the blindness died, there on Line F-312 there was a distant -wink ... wink ... wink. - - - - - X - - -Dusty gripped the 'Tee' bar and started to turn the ship toward the -new beacon. His approach to dead center was ragged--he overshot and -over-corrected, but finally he made it. And then with a burst of good -sense, Dusty released the 'Tee' bar very gently and leaned back in his -pilot's chair. The crosshairs stayed on their winking beacon. - -Gant Nerley nodded. "Turn the presentation to 'Polar' again, and keep a -sharp eye out for a slow beacon along Radius Q-103. You probably made a -wide curve around that other beacon and you may be a bit too close to a -gas field. You'd burn up in milliseconds if you hit it at your present -speed. By the way, what color is the presentation now?" - -"It's getting lighter. Sort of yellowish-white, like." - -"Good. But if and when it begins to blue-up a bit you'd better let -up on the 'Force' pedal by a notch or more. Competent pilots can run -with their screen in the violet, but you're far from being a competent -pilot." He saw the look on Dusty's face and added hastily, "I mean that -you've had no experience in galactic travel, Dusty Britton. You're -doing magnificently so far. We'd best take no dangerous chances, -though, until you have driven interstellar craft as many hours as -you've driven your own interplanetary ships." - -Barbara made a choked sound and then covered it by saying, "I see the -slow beacon, Dusty. Out there on Circle D-212, along Radius Q-103." - -It was pulsing slowly, rising to full brilliancy over a period of -more than a minute and falling again, never really winking out to -invisibility. It lay alone in the star-field; the gas cloud behind it -must be of the same nature as any of the so-called 'dark nebulae' or -dust clouds that obscure the stars behind it. But it was far to one -side (Circle D-212) and it seemed reasonable to view it calmly. - -"How much time have I?" he asked Gant Nerley. - -"About fifteen minutes." - -"Good. I want a cigarette and a drink." - -It was with increased confidence that Dusty swooped around the next -beacon and headed on towards the next--and the next--and then around a -long curveway limned by four of the winking beacons and once more along -a long field-free course towards a winker that lay dead ahead for quite -some distance. - -There was one quick jog between two beacons set at an angle like the -flags of a slalom run on skis; a wide 'S' curve around the outside -of the first, up and over, between, then out and around the second -beacon in a long ogee to locate the freeway to the next beacon star. -There was a quick turn that took the plane-locating phanobeacon off -the screen for several minutes and then another one that put the -phanobeacon almost on the crosshairs, and then another slight turn -that put the phanobeacon on the lower corner of the viewpanel again. -It was, according to Gant Nerley, a "most remarkable rift!" At which -Dusty shrugged because he had never seen any other rift. It looked -plenty complicated to Dusty, and he shuddered to think of what a really -tortuous galactic passage would be like. - -They passed by a vast luminous cloud that lay on the spacecraft's beam -for minutes. It looked like a matter of mere miles that separated -them from it. It was marked by two of the slow-winking beacons, as -if that were necessary. The luminous cloud reminded them of a lake, -seen from an automobile driving along a highway. They could not see the -inner star that provided the energy for the luminosity of the cloud, -and eventually they left the luminous cloud behind them. They zipped -between the elements of a star cluster that drove at them with multiple -waves of heat, and on and on they went with Dusty Britton driving his -Marandanian spacecraft like a child running a motorboat, following -instructions shouted by a careful, protecting parent. - - * * * * * - -This did not make of Dusty Britton a space pilot any more than turning -the valve on a radiator makes one a heating engineer, or replacing a -light socket makes one an electrician. But Dusty began to glory in it; -his confidence grew high as his skill increased. - -His touch upon the 'Tee' bar became light and sure of itself. He -no longer waggled widely or jerked the bar when a deviation became -noticed, Dusty corrected his course with deft touches like the driver -of an automobile. He was learning, and filled with a self-confidence -he had no right to feel, but did not know enough to be scared about. -Dusty Britton, who had never been in a space rocket in his life, drove -a galactic spacecraft across the galaxy under what can be called "Dual -Flight Training." - -Which was all right, so long as the trainee has enough space to make -mistakes in. Dusty literally had galactic reaches and these were -well marked against the pitfalls. And if Gant Nerley's face radiated -confidence and his voice sounded cheerful it was due to Gant Nerley's -knowledge that constant admonition, warning, and cries of horror would -only cause more trouble than Dusty Britton's meandering course. - -But flight is easy, whereas landing is the most difficult maneuver in -the universe. - -So by the time Dusty Britton was homing on the main phanobeacon of -Marandis itself, Gant Nerley had his plans. Dusty Britton was not going -to barrel that spacecraft down tailfins first like a screaming elevator -that might come to Velocity Zero at a plus or minus a half mile from -Ground Zero and maybe a plus or minus thirty seconds of Drive Turnoff; -to drop like a plummet or ram the spaceport with a planet-shaking crash -or burn a crater in the 'port with full drive still warping the space -below the ship's tailfin. - -Dusty Britton came to a full zero-zero-zero landing a million miles -above Marandis. He came to a grinding halt high above the planet, -looked around dazedly, and asked Gant: "What makes?" - -"Keep your drive at one gravity thrust," said Gant. "Stand by for -Pilot!" - -The last order was delivered in a ringing voice as though it were a -standard procedure. - -To Dusty, familiar with the tactics used by seagoing liners upon -entering port, standing by for a pilot was quite a sensible practise. -If the Captain of _The North America_ permitted a pilot to bend the -big liner along Ambrose Channel, through The Narrows and into New York -Harbor, Dusty Britton saw no objection to having a pilot come aboard to -bend the big spacecraft down past whatever dangers might be presented -by moons, meteors and cosmic junk. - -And Gant Nerley, not knowing how Dusty felt about spacecraft piloting, -hoped that this procedure sounded like Standard Operating Practise. - -Dusty replied in ringing tone, "Standing By for Pilot!" - -Gant took a deep breath. - -Minutes later a small scooter hauled alongside and a Marandanian pilot -came aboard and took over. He smiled at Dusty and said, "I'm Nort -Wilgas, Pilot." - -"Glad to have you aboard," smiled Dusty. It all sounded very familiar; -The Space Patrol had borrowed liberally from the clichés of naval -procedure and courtesy and he had been through these lines at least -once in every picture. "I'm Dusty Britton." Then he remembered the role -he was trying to play and added, "Of The Terran Space Patrol." - -"Have a good passage?" asked Nort Wilgas. - -"Yes. A bit tiring. After all, I've never driven a galactic spacecraft -before. Frankly, I'm about flat on my face." - -The Marandanian pilot looked into Dusty's face with a perplexed frown. -"You know," he said, "It's just occurred to me--you drove this thing -all the way on duty!" - -"Yes." - -"Twenty-three hours!" - -Dusty suddenly felt tired. He had been too busy with the board to think -of it before. He had been running on nervous energy, but now it had -about run out. Dusty had been this way before; so long as there was -something that had to be done he had done it, but once the need was -over, he invariably came unglued and slept the clock around. - -"Yes," he said. "I had to." - -"Man! What stamina!" - -Dusty yawned and came unglued on the divan opposite the one that Scyth -Radnor occupied. Nort Wilgas nodded at him and then turned to Barbara. -"You can relax too. I'll take over." - -Dusty Britton was fast asleep when the spacecraft made its landing on -Marandis. - - - - - XI - - -Dusty awoke to find the sunshine streaming in through a small porthole -and lighting the cabin cheerfully. The smell of fresh air was in his -lungs, a pungent, pleasant smell faintly of cinnamon or nutmeg but -not quite either. He recalled that he had folded out on the divan in -the salon, now he was in one of the cabins below the salon level. He -wondered how he had arrived. - -He stretched his muscles, the cool sheets felt pleasant against his -back. Then he wondered who had undressed him and how anybody had been -gentle enough to do the job without waking him. He looked around the -cabin expectantly and as he looked, his door opened and a woman came in. - -She was wearing white from cap to slippers and Dusty pegged her for a -nurse at once. She was wholesome enough, but neither her face nor her -figure would have stopped any traffic on Fifth Avenue. She carried a -book with a finger slipped between pages to mark her place and in -her other hand she held the Marandanian equivalent of a cigarette. A -pleasant curl of smoke rose from the lighted end. - -"Hello," she offered brightly. "And how do we feel this morning?" - -"We feel fine," grunted Dusty. "And we'll feel better after a shower, a -shave, and some of that smoke you're using. I'd also enjoy a change of -clothing." - -"We took the liberty of having your uniform cleaned. The shower and -shaving gear is in the bath--there--and as for the cigarette, I can -offer you one right now." - -"Give," said Dusty with a grin. She handed him a case and snapped a -lighter for him. He puffed and found that the stuff, while far from -tobacco, was tasty enough. He took a deep puff and let the smoke filter -out through his nose. - -The nurse said, "I hope you don't resent sleeping in the--ah--" - -"The raw? I do it all the time." Dusty took another puff and swung his -feet overboard onto the deck. It was not deliberate, Dusty was just -uninhibited and the question of wandering across a cabin dressed in -nothing did not even occur to him. The nurse said, "I'll be waiting for -you in the salon." She left, not precipitately, but with a certain air -that removed all embarrassment. - -Dusty showered and shaved and dressed in his cleaned uniform. When he -got to the salon, Barbara was there already, also freshened and cleaned. - -"So this," she said, "is Marandis." - -The nurse nodded cheerfully. "This is Marandis. You'll have to tell me -how your Terra is; I've never been anywhere near that far from home, -you know." - -"Sure," nodded Dusty. "But now that we're on Marandis, what do we do -next?" - -"Oh. I'm to escort you to a formal meeting of the Bureau where you'll -meet Gant Nerley face to face." - -"How's Scyth Radnor?" - -"Why, he's doing very well. He's hospitalized and he'll be out and -howling for the skin of the man that shot him in about a week." - -"He'd better take a month off for practise, first," grinned Dusty. - -"Or," chuckled the nurse, "leave other men's women alone." - -"Yes," agreed Barbara. - - * * * * * - -The nurse nodded. "You're very attractive," she said with no trace of -jealousy or envy. "I can see Scyth getting side-tracked along your -direction. I am a little disappointed in Scyth--seems to me he could do -better than a frauland for you." - -"Better than a what?" - -"Frauland. That bauble he gave you. You wouldn't know, of course, -but it comes from Selira, a stellar colony not far from here. It's -incredibly cheap." - -Barbara tore the chain getting the bauble away from her. "Next time," -she promised sharply, "I'll plug Scyth Radnor myself!" - -The nurse shuddered a bit. Dusty merely laughed and said, "So now we -know where we stand. And now knowing, I'm hungry." - -"Of course. We'll all dine at the meeting." - -"Oh?" - -"Naturally. You're here, aren't you? Marandis is not going to send you -back without a chance for you to present your case. There is a joint -meeting of the Bureaus of Galactic Navigation and New Colonial Affairs. -It will start with a formal breakfast during which no business will -be conducted. Then, once you are all acquainted with one another, the -business of the day will be discussed and a decision rendered." - -She led them to the spacelock and Dusty Britton had his first glimpse -of a Marandanian spaceport. There was precious little to see, which -made it even more stunning to the senses. - -The size of the place was completely obscured by spacecraft which stood -like the trunks in a pine forest. Most of the craft were larger than -Dusty's and so obscured his vision. Between those nearby (which were -rather wide-set) there were others at a little distance, and beyond -them there were still others, and behind those others were more -and more and more until all that could be seen were the tips of the -upthrust noses. The horizon was an irregular pattern of pointed shapes -that was somewhat reminiscent of the Greek egg and dart moulding of -ancient architecture. - -Through some of the more distant lines of sight, the far spacecraft had -a haze around it, as though it were miles and miles away. - -There was not a building to be seen, only spacecraft. - -Dusty gave up trying to penetrate the forest to the edge of the 'port -and directed his attention to his nearby surroundings. - -A road wound around in a zigzag manner, meeting and dividing around -each ship. There was an empty landing block not far from them, and -after a bit of puzzled interest--the shape of the block caught -Dusty's memory--he decided that the landing block was hexagonal. So -were all the rest of the landing blocks. Hexagonal pattern, like the -well-known hexagon tile floor; the road was the marker-lines between -the hex-shaped landing blocks. Those that were empty showed the effect -of heavy masses parked on them; a bit of char now and then; a chip or a -crack, probably made by a rough landing; a deep seam repaired with some -sort of cement or concrete (or whatever the Marandanians had devised -or discovered as a superior material) and at least one place where -the edge of the block had been chipped deeply as though the pilot had -missed his landing point and come down on the edge of the hexagonal -block. - - * * * * * - -As they looked, a muted whir attracted their attention and they turned -to see a ship lowering itself out of the sky to come down in a slowing -vertical drop that ended at the edge of a curtain of nearby spacecraft. -The landing ship inserted itself in the pattern behind ships until only -its nose was visible. Then to one side--and apparently with no warning, -a ship nosed upward, gaining speed rapidly until it disappeared in the -bright blue sky above. - -The nurse said, "We land a ship every thirty seconds. There's a -take-off every thirty seconds, too." - -"That is a lot of activity," said Dusty, swallowing the daily figure -with some amazement--7,200 ships landing--a like number taking -off--every hour, night and day. The traffic added up to a rather -monumental figure. No wonder they required a huge spaceport. - -"Marandis is the center of Galactic culture," said the nurse proudly. -"And this is only the spaceport that handles affairs of the Space -Administration Department. Each of the many Departments of Galactic -Government has its own spaceport. The one at the Department of Space -Commerce is the largest because that is the one that takes care of -incoming transports carrying the necessities of living." - -"Don't you do anything for yourself?" - -"We have no room. Marandis is an urban planet. The only parts that -are not built-up are preserves, parks and recreation-forestry. There -is nothing on the entire planet that does not serve directly toward -Galactic Administration, in one manner or another." - -Dusty nodded. He could grasp this even though the magnitude was great. -By simple proportion, if it took one complete city to administer the -government for a country, it should take one planet to administer the -government of a galaxy. He wondered even then how they managed to get -it all in. - -He smiled and made a wave at the landing ramp. He had seen everything -he could see from the little platform outside of the spacelock. - -At the bottom, in the zigzag road, was a lone, low-slung vehicle with -a man in a simple uniform leaning indolently against the wheel. He was -smoking a cigarette which he tossed onto the landing block as they -came down. He fired up the thing under the nose of the car after they -were inside, and as soon as the door slammed, he let the clutch out -with a rap and the car jack-rabbited into motion. They took off from a -standing start like a frightened deer at about five degrees lift so -that by the time Dusty and Barbara had pulled their heads forward from -the jerked-back angle, the car was about thirty feet in the air and -arrowing forward above the road. The speed climbed rapidly until Dusty -estimated something near to a hundred miles per hour. - -The driver was, of course, cutting the tips of the corners between the -hexagonal blocks in a die-true line of flight and naturally paying no -attention to the zigzag road below them. Since the spacecraft were all -standing in the center of their particular blocks, like a bunch of -chessmen parked on a tile floor, there was plenty of space between the -ships themselves for such passage. Even at their thirty-foot altitude, -which raised them to a point on most ships where the bowed-out flanks -were quite wide, there was room to spare. - -And now that they were in one of the aisles, distant buildings could be -seen dead ahead. It must have been ten miles from their landing block -to the edge of the spaceport. - -The driver barreled along this aisle with the self-assurance of any -taxi-driver, hooting his horn now and then as they came to what seemed -to be a major intersection of the zigzag road below. Dusty wondered -worriedly what happened when two of these characters met in a draw, -because the man seemed to pay no attention to any other noise but his -own, which he made with great confidence, in the other guy. - -Dusty was beginning to wonder about the need for any road below when -his question was answered by a caravan of heavy trucks making their way -along the road. They zipped over the caravan and were gone by the time -Dusty realized that air-travel was not for heavy cargo. - - * * * * * - -The buildings at the end of the aisle between the spacecraft loomed -larger. The driver whipped along at his thirty-foot altitude, making no -attempt to climb over the buildings which were growing taller and more -massive at a frightening rate. Dusty's palms went wet; the buildings -had seemed minute when they turned into the aisle, but now they were -tall and massive and millions and millions of windows could be seen, -with magnificent arches between the buildings spanning the gaps. - -The aircab whipped across an empty perimeter about the -hexagonal-pattern of landing blocks, sped above a low building, and -howled into the tiny space between two buildings with an arch above -and a roof below, and then went into a flat climb. The car rose slowly -in the canyon between the buildings that lined the street below. There -were people working in those buildings, men and women that sat at -their desks behind windows and paid no attention to the passage of a -hundred-mile-per-hour skycab within forty feet of them. - -Then the car was above the roof-level but it kept to the street-lanes. -Below them were the streets, and in the valley was slow-moving traffic, -ground cars and air-cars that ran at different levels to avoid -intersection-collisions. Up in the higher strata were the fast-moving -aircabs, each moving in its lane, and each lane for a different -direction. Even with separate lanes the traffic was a turmoil; constant -jockeying to gain position, to avoid trouble, to move a level higher -or a level lower so that a corner could be turned without entering the -intersection at the wrong level. - -To make a right turn the driver jockeyed himself to the top of the -altitude allowed that line of traffic, and in the block before his turn -he rose above his lane, made his turn, and then entered the right-bound -traffic pattern from below, mingling with the speeding aircabs. To make -a left turn, the driver dropped to the floor of his lane, fell below, -made his turn, and mingled with the left-bound turmoil from above their -upper limit of altitude. - -They raced along in the middle-altitude at high speed; cars above them, -below them, to the left and right, before and behind. - -"My God!" breathed Dusty, "New York at rush hour--in three dimensions." - -Their driver turned and winked at them. He flicked a lighter with -one hand and lit the smoke that was hanging from one corner of his -mouth. "Yeah man," he drawled. "Some of them guys should ought to take -lessons." - -Then he turned back to his job with a shrug, lost a hundred feet of -altitude in three hundred feet of run, and whizzed around a corner and -fitted his aircab into a space between traffic that was just large -enough to let him in without scratching paint. The other cars moved up, -aside, down or sped or slowed to give him elbow room. He fought them -for position, dropping on a descending run through this cross traffic -until he whipped out of traffic on a spiral over the roof-top of one of -the buildings. - - * * * * * - -Here the driver phlegmatically put the aircab into a tight corkscrew -that dropped them onto the roof. Dusty got out slowly, testing the -stiffness of his knees after the ride. He helped Barbara out next and -the nurse came out on the other side at the same time. - -Then they were almost roofed as the aircab took off on a flat, -screaming '_U_' turn that lofted him no more than ten feet, whipped -across the street between levels and swooped him down on the opposite -side, where he hit the other roof without a bounce and came to a fast -braking stop beside a man who had flagged him. - -The man got in and the aircab whiffled off the roof in a crazy climbing -turn and burrowed into the fast traffic lane above. It forced its way -into the mass of traffic and was lost in a matter of seconds. - -"Holy Rockets!" - -Barbara wiped her damp forehead with the back of a shaking hand. -"Oh--for a film of this!" - -Dusty grinned weakly. "Shucks, Barb. What's a fender for if you don't -fend with it?" - -Quietly their nurse turned from the spectacle and led them to a roof -kiosk and down some steps into an elevator.... - -The operator cut the ropes and let them drop slightly slower than the -free-fall constant of the planet Marandis, leaving their stomachs -somewhere up on the hundred and ninety-first floor. He braked the -elevator somewhere down below-below-below, and their innards caught up -with them in such a sudden rush it buckled their knees. - -Along a magnificent corridor and through massive carved doors opened -for them by men in uniform, and then they were ushered into a vast -ornamented room with a vaulted ceiling, tapestried walls, and a -polished floor. Deep armchairs were waiting around a huge table that -glistened with polished metal and blinding white cloth, the severity -broken by color of dish and fruit and fluid. Soft stringed music filled -the air that was also lightly scented. - -As they entered, the music bridged from the stringed fugue to a -magnificent orchestration and the scent changed subtly from languid -sweetness to a pungent aroma that compelled the senses to pleasant -attention. The soft-key lighting swirled across the vaulted ceiling and -changed into a colored brilliance that made the blood leap high. - -The music slid into a soft passage and a vibrant voice announced: - -"Dusty Britton, Commander in Chief of The Junior Division of The Terran -Space Patrol. Barbara Crandall, Thespian and Vocal Musician of Terra. -In attendance, Lela Brandis, Mistress of Extra-Marandanian Medicine." - -The music crashed, the scent came heavy and sharp, and the lights -flashed like the licking of summer lightning and came to rest outlining -them brilliantly. - -Gant Nerley crossed the huge room and held out his hand to Dusty -Britton. - -"We need no introduction, Dusty Britton," he said in a ringing tone. "I -say 'Greeting' to you with all my heart!" - -Another stab of music, a touch of cinnamon-scent, and a play of lights. - -Gant Nerley turned. "Stop the dramatics," he commanded. "What are we, -children to be impressed by theatrical tricks?" - -The music shifted back to the string ensemble, the scent smoothed out -to something pleasant and pungent, and the lights faded back to their -neutral medium-key. Dusty thought that if this lights-and-music stuff -was strictly off the cuff, ad-lib, someone was a past master at the art -of extemporaneous composition. He liked it. And if it took Marandanian -children to appreciate it, you could give him ten years in school and -call him the Marandanian child. - -Gant Nerley was holding out an elbow to Barbara. She took it and -the Marandanian led her towards the head of the table. Dusty looked -around; then he offered his own elbow to the nurse--Mistress of -Extra-Marandanian Medicine, Lela Brandis. - -It was many years before Dusty identified the things he had for -breakfast. It was exotic and well-prepared; none of it was remotely -familiar but all of it was good. - -Then over the after-dinner drinks and smokes, Gant Nerley rose, rapped -the table with his knuckles, and proposed the problem for the day. - - * * * * * - -"What are we going to do about Sol?" asked Gant Nerley seriously. Dusty -eyed the Marandanian soberly. "Leave it alone, I hope." - -"You realize what you are asking?" - -"My God! Do we have to go through all that mishmash again?" - -"Again?" - -Dusty slammed the table with his fist hard enough to make the glassware -jump. "Again and again. I'm getting sick and tired of explaining all -the many reasons why none of us want to move to another star and lose -a thousand years. And then being told that after all it won't hurt a -bit, and besides this move is necessary--and if we don't move willingly -we'll be moved anyway forcibly." - -"Why are you so angry?" - -Dusty looked at Gant Nerley and sat down wearily. "Because," he said -patiently, "all of us know that no matter what, you're going to go on -and do it anyway--but not until you've forced yourself to believe that -you have convinced us that we should accept this kick in the pants -gracefully." - -"It isn't that simple." - -"No?" - -"No, it isn't. You see, we are bound by our own laws to hold to certain -programs under certain conditions. It is the conditions which prevail -that we are attempting to define, outline, determine, and pin down so -that we know what lawful action may be taken." - -"You sound like a bureaucrat explaining away an awkward situation. Just -what do you mean by conditions and programs?" - -Gant picked them off on his fingers. "There are the following," he -said. "First would be a race--remember I am talking about all the -races of mankind strewn across the galaxy; the races that are us, you -and we and all the rest that stem from a single source, the origin of -which is lost in the antiquity of a hundred thousand years. So, first -would be a race which was still in the growing-up stage, say the mound -building, early agricultural, perhaps later, in early metal. An age of -no true scientific grasp; what little of science they know has come -by guesswork, blundering discovery and hit-or-miss experiment. Such -a race could be moved across space without a qualm, because it would -only bring about a rather deep period of superstitious horror and a -religious fear. A few hundred years later the tale would be completely -discounted, because the astronomers would be rising and stating flatly -that no agency in the universe could change the constant stars. The -old sky would be wiped out of men's memory in a couple of generations, -although it might remain in myth and fairy tale for a long time. Such a -set of conditions would permit the moving program without a qualm." - -Gant looked at Dusty. "Understand?" - -"Sure," replied Dusty indifferently. "Go on." - -"Then on the other end of the scale we have the advanced race. They -have discovered the phanobands, know about space flight and perhaps -have colonized the planets of other stars say within ten to fifty -light-years. A race of this stage of development would understand and -grasp the problem quickly. Then having been shown the problem, they -would make the move willingly and no doubt help, because they would -understand that their destiny is a part of the Galactic Destiny." - -"Oh, yeah? You mean to say that if Marandis were found to lie across -the road like a stone wall you would all happily toss Marandis into a -barytrine field for a thousand years?" - - * * * * * - -Gant smiled serenely at his objection. "Well, doubt it as you will, but -we would. Of course, we know that no such case would ever come up. But -if it did--" - -"Y'know what you remind me of," snapped Dusty. "You remind me of a -parent explaining to his kid that this castor oil is good for the -kid, and that if the parent needed it he would take it with a happy -smile--excepting of course that the parent does not need anything of -that nature. We have an old adage: he dies well who never faced a -sword! I think it applies here. Well, go on, Gant. Tell me where Terra -lies in your scale of values." - -"That's what we are trying to determine. You are obviously not of the -pre-aware stage. You have your limited space travel and your historical -records which will preclude any attempt at forcing the affair upon you -and causing you to put the change as superstition that would be wiped -out." - -"Thanks." - -"On the other hand you are not of the advanced stage which could accept -a change in your night sky without trouble, nor will you accept it -willingly." - -"How true. Now this brings us to the impasse, doesn't it?" - -"Yes." - -From across the table a man waved for attention. "It's more than that. -The moment Dusty Britton opened the distress phanoband, the secret of -the galactic rift was let out. Like everybody else, we put direction -finding equipment on the signal and have it located rather well. Then -we went back through our files and found that as far as we can tell, -Sol was mentioned as a possible beacon by one of our early exploratory -parties. One that disappeared. One that--" - -"So what?" barked a man down the table from Dusty. "Seems to me that -Intercluster sits on its duff and waits for us to find rifts for them." - -"Transgalactic isn't the only outfit with a spacecraft," snarled the -man from Intercluster angrily. "We've done our share." - -"Not on my books," said the Transgalactic representative. - -Intercluster eyed Transgalactic sourly. "What's the matter?" asked -Intercluster softly, "Are you mad because Intercluster happens to have -records on the rift you re-discovered?" - -"Re-discovered my--" - -Intercluster turned to Gant. "I leave it up to you," he said. "Our -records show that we, too, have rights to this rift." - -Transgalactic hammered on the table. "Like hell!" he roared. "If you -have rights, why aren't you using them?" - -"Because you and your gang concealed them from us until Scyth Radnor -got into trouble. A fine bunch of incompetents you are! A fine group to -be representatives of our culture. You can't even keep your hands off -native females--" - -Barbara rose with a single lithe motion and hurled the contents of her -glass in the Intercluster man's face. He staggered back, floundered -back into his chair, landed hard and tilted it back on hind legs to go -over backward in a crash. - -"Native female?" spat Barbara. - -The room went breathlessly silent; the music stopped on a flubbed note; -the scent soured in a brief wave as though the man at the valves had -miscued. The lights flickered awkwardly. - -Barbara stood there tense and ready. Her breasts were pushed against -the nylosheer of her dress; her stomach was flat and hard. She was -poised like a healthy wild animal daring any onlooker to try to tame -her. - -Dusty rose lazily and pushed her back into her chair with a hand on her -shoulder. No other man in the room would have dared to lay a hand on -her except Dusty. This he somehow realized, and it gave him personal -gratification to know that he had once more done that which the -Marandanians would not have dared. - -Then he went over and picked up the Intercluster man with one hand, -standing the man on his feet like a puppet. - -"We apologize for reacting to your unfortunate choice of words," he -said smoothly. "We admit to being a bit primitive and impulsive. I came -unarmed," and he pointed to the band across his hips where the Dusty -Britton Blaster belt had protected the whipcord from the sun, "because -we are advanced enough to realize that we are impulsive and perhaps a -trifle inclined to act before considering the matter fully." - - * * * * * - -He turned away from the man and sauntered over to Gant Nerley. "I -apologize again," he said. "But I do suggest that our nerves are a bit -short. After all it is hard to sit here and listen to your friends and -fellow-citizens discuss the ways and means of making use of that rift -through the galaxy without once recognizing that we poor devils have to -move out whether we like it or not." - -Gant smiled nervously. "I am trying to appreciate your position," he -said. "And in a way I do. But you must try to appreciate ours. We are -not taking anything away from you that you will miss. After all, Dusty, -what do you stand to lose, really?" - -Dusty swallowed. It dawned on him what he was doing and why. And also -how he had managed to get away with it so far. - -And in these fractions of a second, Dusty probably matured more than he -had grown during the great part of his life. - -He realized suddenly that he was only Dusty Britton of The Space -Patrol and as phony as The Space Patrol itself. To date he had done -as good a job of wool-pulling as the best statesmen or scientists, -but only because he was an actor. He had succeeded in convincing the -whole bunch of them that the cultural level of Sol was higher than it -was. A scientist would have admitted his lack because that was the -way scientists operate. A businessman would have been baffled, and -a statesman would have tried to cover his indecision in a gout of -flowery language that would be known for what it was by this bunch of -high-brain characters. - -But Dusty was an actor, blunt and not too smart. Modesty is not part -of an actor, while the ability to submerge himself is. He had become -Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol and the hero of a hundred adventures -in space among a people who were hard and fast because they were still -in struggle against their environment. He was tall and strong and young -and handsome, and he was Dusty Britton, fast on the draw, hard on the -trail, and the bes' dam' cabba-yero in all Mehi-co and he had them all -convinced that he and his friends spent their time racing around in -dangerous, imperfect spacecraft powered by reaction motors. - -He was Dusty Britton who had plugged Scyth Radnor for playing games -with his woman. Then Dusty Britton had taken the controls of a -completely foreign spacecraft and had driven the ship halfway across -the galaxy through danger and God-knew-what (Dusty did not) horrors and -possible fates. The fact that Gant Nerley and a corps of engineers and -a bank of computing machines had supervised Dusty's every motion and -move did not detract from the feat in their eyes. It added, because -of the sheer guts of a man who would enter an alien ship and have the -self-confidence to touch the tiniest push-button. - -He sauntered over to Gant Nerley and said, "Well?" - -Gant Nerley was impressed with Dusty's swagger and self-confidence. -So were the rest of the men in the room, with the exception of the -representatives of the two shipping companies, and they had chips on -their shoulders. So Gant Nerley looked around from face to face and -then said, in an official tone: - -"It would appear that Terra is of a level of development that mitigates -against immediate action. Therefore we shall declare a recess, during -which time we shall study the Terran people. If Terra measures up, -other steps must be taken." - -There was a chorus of "Aye!" and the sound of chairs being pushed back -and the noise of feet on the floor. The babble of voices arose as the -members broke into little groups and began discussing the problem. - -But Dusty did not hear them. The self-confidence had oozed out of him -and he slumped in his chair, staring at some shine on a bit of the -table silver, trying to think of something other than the horrible -certainty. For while Dusty Britton had bluffed the Marandanians, he -knew without a shadow of a doubt that his bluff was being called -and it would not stand up. All it would take was the Marandanian -Investigating Committee scouring Terra to find one single man who had -one shred of reason to believe that matter could exceed the velocity -of light. Oh, there were such people. But the man who professed such -opinions believed it because he wanted to believe it; because he hoped -someday that it might be accomplished. He was the man who shrugged -off experiments that followed the rules and acted according to the -equations. He was the man who had faith but no proof. - - * * * * * - -Beyond a doubt, the report of any such committee would recommend that -Terra be bundled into its barytrine field with no delay, and that Sol -be nudged into the three-day variable needed for the beacon on this -particular dogleg of the journey across the galaxy. - -Dusty had succeeded in his own way, but now he knew that it was not -enough. He, himself, had convinced them that Terra was worthy of -notice. The rest of Terra would let him down. Still lost in his own -unhappy thoughts, he became vaguely aware that the babble of discussion -was stopping and that one man was raising his voice to get an audience. - -It was the Transgalactic representative. He was standing by his place -at the table, talking in the tone of voice used by a professional -lecturer hammering home an unpleasant fact: - -"--obvious by the animal ferocity of this Terran, his threats and his -willingness to plunge into physical combat, that he and his kind cannot -be of high culture. I am asked whether or not we may judge an entire -race of people by one man, and I agree that we cannot. But then view -the reaction of his companion who flares up in a fit of red, raw anger, -taking offense at being properly catalogued. I ask you, gentlemen, is -there any excuse for this? Am I not a native male of Marandis? Is she -not a native female of Terra? - -"And so by their actions, both violent in nature and unpredictable in -direction, they have shown themselves to be uncouth. Who knows what -offense they will take next? Does a man among us dare to speak freely -with either man or woman of Terra alone and unprotected? No, because -no one can ever know beforehand what peculiarity of their own limited -semantics will be rubbed the wrong way, setting them into a violent -fury. Dusty Britton has boasted that he can take any of us out and wipe -up the street with us. This cannot be denied. But what does it prove? -Only that his shoulders are broad and his back strong and his fists -hard. And that he has been trained in violence. - -"Now, gentlemen, consider this next argument: What has Terra to lose? -No more than a familiar night sky, really. The time under the barytrine -field will pass without their notice. As for the time lost in respect -to the rest of the galaxy, since they have had no contact with it, they -cannot be affected by the loss. They prate about losing a thousand -years of advancement. Consider how soon they would be taking to space -if we had not found them. Might it not be yet a thousand years before -contact with the galaxy took place? Yet as it stands now, this man and -this woman will live to see galactic commerce, whereas they would be -dead and gone without ever knowing of the galaxy if Marandis had not -found them. And having been granted that, they still show the ignorant -rebellion of children. - -"They have not the foresight to understand that so far as they are -concerned, less than a week of their apparent time will pass before the -ships and men of Marandis will land on Terra in its new surroundings, -to treat with them, to lead them, to educate them, to bring to -Terra all of the glories and benefits of galactic civilization--no, -gentlemen, _to return to Terra its galactic heritage, lost so long ago. -Its birthright returned!_ - -"And yet what response do we get? Objection and rebellion and threats -of violence. So I ask you, are we to be frightened by this small -primitive world that lies like a barrier across our path? Are we to be -cowed by a show of force? Are we? And if we are, shall we run in fear -from a race of men who bear missile-propelling weapons? - -"Look at Dusty Britton and his companion. They sit there angry, -possibly planning their own form of revenge to take place if we have -the temerity to proceed. Then let me ask you, supposing they do object? -Suppose they do resent our meddling in their small lives? Are we to -be frightened of bomb and gun--we who can put them back into their -barytrine field and keep them there until they are willing to agree? -_And without the loss of a life?_ Gentlemen, this whole meeting reminds -me far too much of parents who try to argue logically with children -over bedtime instead of packing the infant off. Who knows what is best? -Child or parent?" - - * * * * * - -The man from Transgalactic paused a moment to let this point sink -in. Then he said, "Gant Nerley, I object to your proposal. We need -no more investigation. We know what these Terrans are and how they -react. They offer little to Marandis at present. They are no more than -a responsibility to us and as such they owe us our superior rights. -Therefore, unless I am ordered at this moment to cease and desist, I am -going to proceed. Do I hear such an order?" - -A babble of voices rose. - -"Gentlemen," said Transgalactic, suavely, "I offer you a short and -quick route to the Spiral Cluster." - -He stood there for fully a minute listening to the clamor of individual -discussions going on in the smaller groups around the table. Then he -hit the table with his fist, bowed sardonically to Dusty and Barbara, -and strode out. - -Dusty looked at Gant. "Can't we do something about this? Can that guy -go do as he pleases?" - -Gant shrugged. "We are a government that guides but does not rule, -suggests but does not demand, recommends but goes not force. I can and -will put a stop to his activity providing that you show direct evidence -that Terra and Sol are of importance in their present location, that -Terra has something to offer Marandis, that you are not what he claims. -However, if what he said is true, then what he is about to do is -acceptable." - -"But we--" and Dusty stopped short. He had no argument strong enough to -convince this Marandanian that Terra would lose anything but its own -jealous prestige. - -Dusty stood up slowly. "Come on, Barbara, let's go home. At least we -can be among friends. I'd hate to be marooned here while Terra was -smothered in the barytrine field." - -Barbara stood up and leaned against his side. "Yes, Dusty," she said in -a throaty contralto. - -Gant smiled wanly. "I'll see that you get home," he said. "Forgive us, -Dusty. You'll really lose little and gain much. I--" - -Dusty looked at Gant. Then he looked down at Barbara. Then up at Gant -again. - -"So I've failed," he said in a low voice. "I've tried and failed. And -I am aware of the fact that Terra will not lose much. That isn't the -point. It's just that I, Dusty Britton, am a personal failure. I should -like to be able to say that I don't give a damn what other people -think, but I can't. I care a lot what other people think, because for -the next forty or fifty years or more I've got a living to make, and -making a living is a lot easier if the entire world is not convinced -that I am a no-goodnik. But then, who am I to stand in the way of -galactic progress." - -"Dusty, I regret that the rest of your people will not be able to see -the thing I am going to show you. Maybe you can describe it when you -return. Come with me." - -Gant led them from the hall, then to a moving walk that hurled them out -and across one of the flamboyant arches between buildings. Here Gant -stopped to display his credentials to a man in uniform, and to sign a -register that also listed Dusty and Barbara and their home planet Terra. - -They went along a corridor that curved gently; through a heavy metal -door that opened on response to a signal sequence delivered against a -button. - -The room inside was vast, truly vast. It was a vertical cylinder and -it must have been more than a thousand feet in diameter and three or -four hundred feet tall. They stood inside of the door on a narrow metal -catwalk that ran completely around the circle, its far side lost in the -distance and the dimness, for the room was not lighted from above, but -from below. - -It was a pleasant glow, a flat, hazy, wispy glow from a gas-like cloud -that floated in the room a hundred feet below the catwalk ... a scale -model of the galaxy. - - * * * * * - -It looked like any photographs of one of the galaxies taken through a -telescope except that this model was dotted here and there with winking -pinpoints and stringed through and through with thin lines that glowed -in many colors, some solid colors and some in two-color spirals, -like coded wire cable. Here and there were faintly glowing spherical -volumes containing many stars, or rectangular volumes confined by -planes of faint color-glow. Certain of these clusters were linked with -other clusters by the zigzag lines that wound and interwove around and -through in a tangled skein. - -Gant Nerley picked up a small cylinder from a rack on the railing of -the catwalk. A narrow pencil of light pointed out, and he aimed it -towards the center, some five hundred feet out to the middle of the -hall. "Marandis," he said. Then he brought the pointer-light across -towards them slowly, to stop a hundred feet from their position. -"Sol," he said. "The lines are courses surveyed and registered by -the various companies, you can gather that the colored stars are our -inhabited systems and the volumes register certain clusters. That faint -greenish-yellow course that ends out there by Sol is the Transgalactic -course set up to reach from Marandis to the Spiral Cluster which lies -almost at our feet." - -The magnificence of the spectacle was enhanced by the silence in the -room. The galaxy, it seemed, lay at their feet and with no irreverence, -and only awe, the viewer felt as though he were standing by the side of -God, looking down at his Work. - -In a hushed voice, Dusty asked, "Is this where they survey the courses? -Couldn't figure out a way around Sol?" - -Gant laughed sympathetically, breaking the hushed awe. "Look at it and -think, Dusty Britton." - -Dusty looked, and Barbara looked, both in awed silence as Gant Nerley -went on: - -"In that model, which looks like a wisp of gas, there are fifteen -billion individual pinpoints. Think, Dusty. One-five, comma, -zero-zero-zero, comma, zero-zero-zero, comma, zero-zero-zero stars -in one galaxy. Across the breadth of this room it lies, scaled down -to represent the hundred thousand light-years of its diameter at the -rate of a hundred light-years to the foot. Eight and one third light -years per inch, Dusty Britton, so your Sol and your Sirius lie about -an inch apart. Now, Dusty, in order to make the stars visible, they -must be above a certain intrinsic size, and in the size of the stars -the scale of the model is violated. Each tiny glowing point is about -one-sixteenth of an inch in diameter. That makes the scalar size of the -stars about a half light year in diameter. The diameter of the colored -lines that represent courses is of the same magnitude, so as we go into -the model--as we may--we will find that the courses touch, intersect, -and lie tangent to stars that are actually far from the flight in real -space. - -"What I am saying, of course, is only a new concept of something that -you already know, but pertaining to another subject with which you have -every right to be more familiar. Take a globe of your Terra. It is -excellent for locating areas, finding cities, lakes, oceans, mountain -ranges; anything gross enough to find physical size upon the map. But -you cannot use it for a road map to direct you to the home of a friend, -because the details of such a trip are much too fine. So we use it for -large-scale mapping, but could not possibly use it for the delicate -business of course mapping." - -"But if you enlarged a section?" - -Gant Nerley nodded. "It has been tried. No good. You see, Dusty, this -was made by going deep into space and making stereograms from all -angles. The transparencies are used in projectors all around the hall. -But as you may know, the finest photogram loses definition when it is -enlarged too much. As for delicate operations, Dusty, just to prove our -point we are going to enter the model." - -Gant led them to a control panel in the railing and from a sheet of -paper in his hand he set the dials. - - * * * * * - -The vast circular runway lowered all around the hall and the -galaxy-model rose, giving the appearance of turning upward past them. -"We are coming down toward and below the plane of our galaxy at the -scalar rate of about a hundred thousand light-years per minute," said -Gant. Then a segment of the catwalk detached from the wall and went -forward on a long girder. - -The bright pinpoints leaped out at them, giving Dusty the same feeling -as he had had in the space flight, except that the model lacked the -waves of heat as the little pinpoints passed. He looked at Barbara -and watched the tiny points plunge into her skin to disappear, then -reappear behind her, as if they passed through her body harmlessly. -He looked at his hand as the points streamed through, and he waggled -his fingers around a cluster and watched them twinkle. They penetrated -clusters and dark-cloud areas, placed where fifty stars occupied a -volume of less than a couple of cubic inches, spots where dusky, -shapeless masses represented globs of fifty light-years in diameter. -Rusty caught on. Thoughtfully he looked at Barbara and made a rough -computation that he and she were a couple of hundred light-years apart. -His eyes, he thought, must be about thirty light-years apart, and the -diameter of his head, at eight-and-a-third light-years per inch-- - -Dusty began to feel light-headed. - -Through and through the model ran the colored lines, tangled and -skeined and then they were facing the point where the greenish-yellow -course-line ended. - -Above the control panel was a faintly glowing sphere about two inches -in diameter. - -"Sol?" asked Gant. - -Dusty shrugged. "Sol? How can we--" - -He leaned forward and set his right eye close to the pinpoint of light -and looked outward. Was it--could it be--familiar. He changed his -angle of sight. Was Galactic North aligned with Terrestrial North? -Dusty could not remember. The center of the Galaxy? Somewhere in or -near Sagittarius, he believed, but Dusty was not familiar with the -constellation. There! Was that the Belt of Orion? It looked strange, -distorted. The constellation as he remembered it of old, was not like -that. Pinpoints, of course, could not begin to look like these tiny -discs, or vice versa. Was it this that made them seem unfamiliar or -was it that he was displaced in scalar space by enough light-years to -distort the constellation? Was that--there--Polaris and the Dippers, -large and small and Andromeda? Or, thought Dusty with wry self-disgust -creeping into his mind, was that _W_-shaped thing Cassiopeia? He wished -that he had paid more attention to astronomy. - -Pleiades? He shook his head. That was a cluster and unless one -remembered very carefully the configuration as it looked from Sol, the -conglomeration of stars would probably look about the same from the -same number of light-years from the opposite side. - -Sol--if that sprinkle of glow were Sol--must be near bright Sirius. -An inch away and a double star. And Alpha Centauri should lie about a -half inch from Sol and it should be a fine trinary; two bright ones in -a binary and a less bright one making the triple. And Procyon--or was -that only a single like Sol? He ran through his sorry list of stars -remembered as being within fifteen or sixteen light-years of Sol, and -was appalled to see the number of pinpoints that were surrounded by -that tiny sphere that represented the sixteen light-year diameter. His -mental catalogue had holes in the listings--more hole than listing, he -considered truthfully. - - * * * * * - -Confused thoughts and vague remembrances plagued him. Wearily Dusty -shook his head. For here, up close to the sprinkles themselves, he -knew that they were not scaled. How could the scale show a binary when -the size of the stars was scaled at a half light-year in diameter? -If that bright one were Sirius as he supposed, it was a single blob -because Sirius and its companion were quite lost in the half light-year -diameter of the glowing spot that represented the system. And so, of -course, was Centauri. No, one could not scale a hundred-thousand -light-years down to a thousand feet and hope to retain enough detail to -calculate a course. - -He nodded unhappily and looked along the green-yellow line that ended -at Sol and realized that at least at one place in the course there was -a change of direction that was so shallow that the diameter of the line -representing the course was so wide that the ship, in actuality, only -traversed space from one side of the line to the other, changed course, -and returned to the first side. - -Dusty leaned forward again, looking along the yellow-greenish line -that marked the Transgalactic course. At the far end he noted the -wink ... wink ... wink of the star-beacon, not much different than it -had appeared in Scyth Radnor's spacecraft. "Where," he asked, "does -their course lead from Sol?" - -"The prospectus, of course, is not shown as finished," said Gant. "But -we can show it momentarily." He pressed a button and a dotted line of -yellow-green flashed into view, extending from the end of the solid -line out and out until it was lost to their view through the star-field -toward the outward Spiral Cluster. - -Dusty looked at the line. "I suppose it isn't to scale or anything," -he said. "But I can't help hoping--Gant, look, suppose this model were -truly to scale, couldn't they save themselves a beacon here?" - -"Save a beacon?" - -Dusty nodded and the little spreckles blinked at his eyes. Gant shook -his head. "This model was built in the hope that we could play gods -standing in our galaxy with a measuring stick. We failed because we are -no nearer to the stature of gods than this model is to the stature of -the galaxy itself. We cannot play gods, Dusty Britton." - -"I'm not trying to play God," said Dusty solemnly. "I'm just thinking -that if you can move a planet away from a star you want to convert -into a three-day variable, you might be able to take your barytrine -field and slap it around this star here," Dusty pointed to one with -a forefinger, "Then you move it aside and that gives you a long -run from this beacon to that beacon--missing Sol by a full inch, -or--eight-and-a-third light-years." - -Gant blinked. Slowly, he said, "Move the star--" and let his voice -trail away into a mutter. "Move the interfering star--" he repeated -again. "Then--my Lord!" - -"What's the matter?" asked Dusty. - -"Yours is the glimmer of an idea that makes for the birth of a new -concept!" breathed Gant. "Take it from there, Dusty. Don't you see? -Move a star and straighten out one dogleg, move two and iron out the -course even more. Maybe we could drill a free channel completely -through from Marandis to the Spiral Cluster. Maybe from Marandis to -Star's End, to Vannevarre, to Rescrustes--perhaps from Laranonne to -Ultimane across the whole galaxy, a hundred thousand light-years of -free flight without a change in course. I--" - -A tiny spot of light came crawling along the yellow-green course to -disappear into the tiny pinpoint of light that represented Sol. - -Gant said, "That must have been Transgalactic, returning to Sol to--" -then Gant jumped. "Dusty! Come on! There's no time to waste!" - -He hit the buttons on the control panel viciously and the little flying -catwalk swung noiselessly back across thousands of light-years of -scaled distance to fit into its niche once more. The circular catwalk -rose high above the wispy model to its former position. - - - - - XIII - - -Of course Dusty had expected there would be quite a difference between -his handling of Marandanian spacecraft and the professional. But he did -not realize how great this difference was. In a larger ship than Scyth -Radnor's, spearheading a conical flight of twelve more ships, he rode -behind the pilot and admired the smoothness of the man's operation. - -The color of the plate was high in the blue-violet and the stars leaped -out of their background to whip past with hardly a flick. Beacons -fairly buzzed and they grew into flaming balls and were gone behind as -the pilot moved the 'Tee' bar with a deft motion of one hand and used -the other hand to flick back and forth across the controls, changing -the viewpanel co-ordinates and adjusting the various factors for -flight. He skirted gas fields dangerously close and zipped between the -cluster by the double zigzag with a swaying motion, then humped the -spacer down tight and made a dead run for it. - -And behind him in a cone came the rest, in tight formation, conically -arranged below the leader in tiers, three, four, five. - -They soared around another beacon, its flashing fire bright blue -and the coronal glow reaching out for them, and then the pilot was -calling out numbers and a man at the computer was punching keys. On -the viewpanel before them lay another beacon, winking ... winking ... -winking. - -Behind them, a continuous tape was running through the recording -machine, playing its words on the phanoband communication channels: -"Calling Transgalactic. Government Priority and Emergency! Calling -Transgalactic! You are to disable your barytrine generator, you are to -discontinue all operations at once! By Order of the Bureau Of Galactic -Affairs!" - -A man sat tense in his chair peering at a greenish screen that had a -halo-spot in the middle. The halo was growing larger, but so slow as to -be almost steady. The man held a micrometer thimble between his thumb -and forefinger and was turning it slowly, keeping a pair of dark lines -tangent to the bright edge of the halo. From time to time he would call -out a figure which another man would pluck out on a keyboard. - -"Why don't they answer?" breathed Barbara. - -Gant smiled sourly. "Because they are going to go through with it if -they can." - -"But--?" - -"They have every legal right to maintain communication silence, even -though at the present time there is small point in maintaining secrecy -about this rift. Their legal position is one of fair safety; one cannot -be convicted of disobeying orders that one does not hear." - -Dusty eyed Gant angrily. "You mean to say they can't hear that signal?" - -"Of course they hear it. But can you prove that they hear it?" - -"On Terra we have a maxim that ignorance of the law is no defense. This -is to keep people from shooting people and then claiming that they -didn't know that shooting people was forbidden by law." - -"Very sensible. We have the same laws and the same interpretation," -smiled Gant. "But in this case we have a different situation. As of -the last acknowledged contact with Transgalactic, and specifically -that part which is dealing with Sol and Terra, they had every right to -proceed. The law has been changed. Now it is up to the law to see that -the change in law has been properly delivered to the interested parties -and that the change is acknowledged. Follow?" - -Dusty nodded. "_Ex post facto_ sort of thing. If you pass a law -forbidding neckties on Tuesday, you cannot arrest a man for having -appeared on Monday without one." - -"Right." - -"But this is already Tuesday." - -"But to be effective, newly-passed laws must be properly posted. -Then must be acknowledged from the farthest point in space. And -Transgalactic is playing communication-silence." - -Dusty grunted angrily. "And that was the character that yelped about -our vengeful nature? Isn't he guilty of the same?" - -Gant Nerley nodded. "Of course! Aren't we all of the same cut of human?" - -The phanoband signal went on: - -"Calling Transgalactic! Discontinue all operations by Order of--" and -so forth. - -The squawk box on the wall said, "Calling Gant Nerley with report." - -"Report!" - -"Report slight increase in phanoradiation high in the subnuclear -region. Cross semi-collateral traces indicating an increase in -lower-level nuclear activity." - -The squawk box clicked off and Dusty looked with puzzlement at Gant -Nerley. "What was all that?" he pleaded. - -"He means that Transgalactic is hard at work. The lower level of -nuclear reactions has increased in intensity, meaning in simple -prediction that the business of making a variable star out of Sol is -under way." - -The Marandanian with the filar micrometer on the barytrine detector -grumbled. "It's going to be a bit rough." - -"Why?" asked the pilot. "If it weren't for that barytrine we'd never -find Sol out of that mess dead ahead. We'd be canvassing the stellar -region around there for weeks if we didn't have a focal point--" - -"I know," grunted the detector operator. "First you need a barytrine -field large enough to make a homing run on, but then once you're home -you'll want a tiny one so you can locate the generator precisely. Well, -you can't have 'em both, Jann." - -Jann Wilkor shook his head. "I wish I'd made this run before. I could -make it faster." - -Gant pointed at the screen and nudged Dusty. The color-scale was still -high in the blue-violet and there were a couple of places on the -viewpanel that were a dead black, tiny spots that did not move as Jann -Wilkor's delicate touch corrected the course. Spots burned out of the -substance of the panel like over-exposed film burned through. - -"It takes a master pilot to make a run this fast. Even so, we're taking -a rather high risk. But if the channel was free and open from Marandis -to Spiral Cluster, with only a big phanobeacon at either end, we could -make it with the screen burning black-violet. We may even have to -develop a new supraradiant material for ultra-high velocities." - -"How fast can you go?" - -Jann Wilkor soared around a beacon and centered on the next before -the flicking wave of heat was gone. He did it easily and with the -negligent reflex of the master pilot. "Fitt Mazorn took one of the -high speed jobs into intergalactic space for a speed run a year ago -and claims to have made it from Laranonne to Ultimane in slightly less -than an hour. Or," corrected the pilot, "an equivalent distance, out in -deep-deep space. Some of this is probably guff; I doubt that he could -do it. That's a hundred thousand light-years per hour and just a bit -fantastic. Trouble is that the phanobands propagate at a finite speed, -according to Hahn Tratter, and therefore the true velocity is difficult -to check, since no one has been able to measure phanoband velocity." - -"At any rate, it's fast," said Dusty, who did not understand half of -what the pilot said. - -Gant nodded. "It's fast. It's what we'll be doing in your clear -channels, Dusty. That will make you rich and famous, that idea of -yours." - -"Iffing and providing we can get there in time." - -"No matter. If Terra is lost to you, you'll still--" - -"Look," said Dusty, "if that bunch wins out, I'll--" - -"And I won't blame you," replied Gant. - -There came a double report. The man on the barytrine detector said, -"Barytrine field just went into the second phase," at the same time -that the pilot said, "Last lap!" and turned his point of aim around the -beacon to center the hairs on a small star that did not wink. - -"Our next problem is to scour Terra inch by inch to find their -barytrine generator," said Gant worriedly. - -Dusty groaned. He thought of the trackless wastes of the planet; the -Upper Amazon jungles, the tundra of Alaska and Siberia, the hidden -reaches of Africa, high Tibet, and for that matter the cornfields of -Iowa and the wheat fields of Saskatchewan. The fathomless, staggering -area of the sea bottoms was too vast a hopeless search-problem to -contemplate. - - * * * * * - -Gant looked at Dusty. "It's bad, Dusty. I'll not fool you, but it's -bad. We have perhaps a day or two, perhaps three. We're late. By the -time we arrive, the phase-two growth will be heavy enough to cause -leakage-reaction in our detector and render the detector completely -ambiguous." - -"Meaning what?" - -"What I said. That we must scour Terra inch by inch. And here is where -you must help." - -"Me?" - -"Yes. You must issue orders to your Space Patrol to comb the landscape. -You must find that barytrine generator." - -Dusty looked at Gant Nerley blankly. "You realize what you're asking? -That within a matter of hours we must set up a land-scouring search -and completely cover the entire earth? I haven't even got the foggiest -notion of how many million square miles of earth there are, let alone -the ocean-bottom which we couldn't even touch, lacking the equipment." - -"They wouldn't plant it on a sea bottom." - -"No? Look, Gant, remember that they're planning on keeping this thing -running for a thousand years. They'll have to hide it good." - -Gant shook his head with a wan smile. "Not at all. You forget that so -far as anybody within the barytrine field is likely to see it, the -total time will be from right now until the field goes on in a few -hours. Then the enclosure-time will elapse instantaneously for those -within. Anybody who finds it once the job goes on will find it after -you have been freed of the field. The chances are high that they've -dropped it in some comfortable climate, possibly near a large city, -just as Scyth Radnor did." - -Dusty eyed Gant sourly. "For the same purpose?" he asked. - -"Probably. After all, Dusty--" Gant let the statement hang, suggesting -silently that Dusty was the kind of human who would think of the same -thing and act on it. "So you must issue orders to your Patrol--" - -Dusty grunted. His Patrol? Discredited, his position shot to bits, his -public appeal running somewhere near absolute zero, who would even -listen to him? His former admirers had shucked their Space Patrol -clothing for the costume of Jack Vandal, Space Rover. - -Then he sat up with a puzzled smile. - -"You have an idea?" - -"I hope so." - -"And--?" - -Dusty smiled wistfully. "From the time Scyth Radnor opened his -spacelock and blasted off the end of my antenna, I've been running a -losing battle," he said. "I've been playing a game far over my head; -outpointed, overbid, overdrawn and sinking. About the only reason I'm -still here fighting is that some of the rules of this cockeyed game -seem to fall into my own act. Yes, dammit, I've got an idea. Can I call -the orders, Gant?" - -"Take over, Dusty." - -Dusty turned to the pilot. "When we get there," he said, "Circle the -planet several times as fast and as low as you can. Create a stir. -Radiate like mad, anything you can radiate. Call attention to us in a -bold fashion and show 'em that what we've got is big, important and -powerful." Then to Gant Nerley he put the question, "You wouldn't have -anything as primitive as a radio set aboard, would you?" - -"You mean a radiomagnetic communication device? Well, not for -communications but we do have a small receiver for detecting the -lower-radiation stars and one for scanning planetary systems for -primitive cultures. What did you have in mind?" - -Dusty looked Gant in the eye. "I want to broadcast orders to my Patrol." - -"Oh. An excellent idea. We'll save time that way. The scanner-type -radiomagnetic wave equipment is two-way and connected to a menslator -for contacting primitive peoples, you know, and--" - -"Get it fired up," said Dusty shortly. "Full power." - - * * * * * - -The screech of air came first as a thin whistle, and then thundered and -slammed down at Earth below as the thirteen Marandanian spacecraft were -inched lower and lower into the complaining atmosphere. The howling -racket dinned into the ears of Russian and Chinese and Hawaiian and -Californian and New Yorker and Briton and Frenchman and Indian and -Malayan and Indonesian and Argentinian and South African and Australian -and Mexican and Floridian. Around it went, across the land and the sea, -a thunder blast of rent air that piled shock wave on shock wave and -sent them tearing down at the ground below. The thunder cracked windows -and made plaster sift down from ceilings. It dinned down a tree or two, -and it hurled some people to the ground. It flipped a parked fleet of -jetplanes over in crumpled ruin like a windstorm hitting a deck of -cards. - -Across the world, radar operators looked blankly at the signal pips -that raced across their screens and began to make apologetic reports. -Interceptors tried to rise, but were tossed madly in the racing -shock-stream to lose ground and return to earth limping. - -But in the lead spacecraft of this mad fleet, the barytrine operator -watched his detector hopefully. The entire screen was aglow, but he -watched it and finally said, "I think it's down there somewhere." - -He pointed to a region in Indiana not far from the lower tip of Lake -Michigan. - -The fleet circled Terra once more, swung high for the long dive, and -then came howling down on a long slant, while Dusty took the radio and -cried: "Junior Spacemen of The Space Patrol, _Attention_!" - -The radio, powered by machinus forces, hammered down and blanketed -the radio broadcast stations. It broke up the video screens in a mash -of spots, flecks and snowflakes. Dusty's voice roared into telephone -lines and onto the commercial radio links and chattered indistinctly in -direction-finding equipment and made incomprehensible squiggles clutter -the radar screens. - -"Junior Spacemen, Attention to Official Orders! By now you are aware -that your Commander, Dusty Britton, flies with a fleet of spacecraft -above you. Now hear this! - -"Within a few hundred miles of the lower tip of Lake Michigan there is -concealed somewhere a dangerous device known as a barytrine generator. -This must be located and stopped. - -"Now! To the Junior Spaceman who locates this machine I will personally -award the Medal of Merit. And to the entire Group Command of which he -is a member I will award full scholarships as Space Midshipmen in a -real Space Academy, to make them real spacemen. - -"Now, Junior Spacemen, go out and find me that barytrine generator!" - -Dusty signed off as the down-rushing fleet swaybacked close to the -ground and pulled out to swap ends and go screaming up in a stark -vertical climb, its drivers fighting the rise to a standstill fifty -miles in the sky. - -Here they hovered for a second to turn rightside up and then the flight -formed into a pattern and began to land, coming down slowly. - -Before they were halfway down, Dusty saw results. In the telescope -were moving dots scouring the landscape. And along highways that led -from town and city were boys on bicycles and a few in cars driven by -parents. Across the fields they went, peering under trees and behind -bushes, scouring the cornfields and the farms and stamping through -woodsy sections like swarming ants. - -But then as the flight landed in a neat pattern in a bald field, the -barytrine detector hissed once and gave up, smoke curling out of the -cabinet. - -"Close," said the operator. - -But Dusty, with a yell, was at the airlock. For across the field a -thousand yards away was a faint bluish haze that shimmered iridescent -in the sunlight. He pawed at the door as it swung open ponderously, -then he looked around wildly for something to use. His eyes fell upon a -small cabinet. - -Scyth had placed that fluted-barrelled thing back in the airlock after -he burned Dusty's antenna off. Dusty tore a cabinet open and grabbed -one of the fluted-barrelled things from a clip. - -Then he jumped to the ground and raced across the field. - -"Dusty!" roared Gant Nerley. "That's dangerous. You can't--" - -Gant let his voice trail away as Dusty plunged into the blue haze, -fingering the trigger-button at the top of the pistol grip. The searing -beam lashed out and slashed at the air as Dusty's heels caught the -ground in a braking slide. Then the knifing beam slashed down across -the metal case and into the ground before it. Curls of smoke arose and -the ground sizzled. He cross-slashed and cut another ribbon out of the -air and the barytrine generator, then cut down again. - -There was a hiss and a sputter and the blue haze ceased--there was a -blinding flash and a flat bark of something exploding violently. Dusty -felt a wave of almost-intolerable heat, his closed eyes were seared by -a flare of brightness, and the explosion hurled him backwards on his -spine. He turned and scrambled back, stumbling over the rough ground, -blinded. - -At that moment four members of the Junior Space Patrol came through a -small thicket of trees. - -"Gee," said their Group Leader. "Gee--the Commander found it first!" - - * * * * * - -They stood on a small reviewing stand, Dusty Britton and the Group -Command that had come through the thicket of trees in time to steer -their blinded Commander away from the flaring barytrine generator. -Dusty's face and hands were a super-sunburned red, and his eyes were -still puffy but open enough to see. - -From a sheet of paper he read: - -"It is not within my power to grant a medal that is worth the tin it is -made of. But for the diligence and their quick action I do hereby grant -and guarantee them full scholarships in White Sands University, which -by the time they graduate will have become a full Space Academy. So I -here hand them their Certificates of Entry, and to the President of -White Sands University I deliver a certified check to be held in trust -and used for their education. - -"I salute the future Commanders of The Space Patrol and step down from -my position to leave it open for them!" - -There came a roar from the crowd that thundered across the field as -Dusty stepped from the platform into a spaceport jeep and was hustled -out to Gant Nerley's flagship. Inside there were a number of men -waiting. - -"Now see here, Dusty, you can't go galaxy-hopping when we've got plans -for you." - -Dusty eyed Martin Gramer with a grunt. "Last time we met in a place -like this you had me all scheduled to take a space hop when I had other -plans for myself. No dice, Gramer." - -"But look at the money--" - -"I'll make millions out of this clear-channel idea, according to Gant, -here." - -"That's right," said Gant. - -"So," said Dusty, "if you think I'm going to go on playing the part of -a broken-down hero-spaceman when there are real spacemen around, you're -nuts, Gramer. Include me--as you've said so often--out." - -"But what are you going to do?" - -"Me? I'm going to Marandis. Barb and I have an offer from Supergalaxy -Spectacles to make a series of what they call 'Primitives.' You know, -old-timers with men using chemical rockets and learning their first -feeble steps into space." - -He grinned at Barbara knowingly. "I've got a script of _Destination -Moon_ I swiped from Central Files. It should oughta wow 'em cold!" - - * * * * * - -[Transcriber's Note: No Chapter XII heading in original publication.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TROUBLED STAR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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Smith</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Troubled star</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George O. Smith</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 20, 2022 [eBook #69190]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TROUBLED STAR ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop"> - <img src="images/illusc.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>Troubled Star</h1> - -<h2>A Novel by GEORGE O. SMITH</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Startling Stories, February 1953.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">FOREWARD—EN SAGA</p> - - -<p>At least once in every generation there turns up a person who is -embarrassing to the Custodians of History. With neither talent nor -ambition, nor studious application nor admirable character, this person -succeeds where the bright and the studious and the intellectually -honest would have failed miserably. Stubborn, egocentric, vain—often -stupid—our person blunders in where the wise and the sincere would -not dare. His hide is thicker than that of the rhinoceros. He is not -abashed to tell the surgeon where to ply his scalpel, or to instruct -the statesman on a course of diplomacy. His little knowledge is a -dangerous thing—for other people.</p> - -<p>His success is due to the law of averages.</p> - -<p>History holds many accounts where the brave and the brilliant have -stepped in at the right time to avoid disaster. Yet there are more -bums than geniuses, more cowards than heroes and more laziness than -ambition in our human race, so it is not surprising that there should -be occasions when a bum or a self-centered braggart should find that -history has a special niche waiting for him.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">I</p> - - -<p>They were parked on the dark side of Mercury, snug and comfortable in -their hemisphere of force that kept out the cold and kept in the air. -At one side where force met ground, a tall silvery spacecraft rose like -a chimney.</p> - -<p>They were three:</p> - -<p>Chat Honger was tall, red-headed, and thin faced. He looked as though -he were incapable of quieting down, but he was really the type of -person who has an incredible amount of patience for things which cannot -be performed in a hurry.</p> - -<p>Bren Fallow was shorter than Chat Honger, darker, stouter, more round -of face and more amiable. Definitely, Bren was the methodical type.</p> - -<p>The third man was Scyth Radnor. Scyth was the kind of man who is quick -to grasp a new idea and as quick to reduce it to practise. His failing -was that he seldom looked deep or planned far ahead. Being quick of -mind he preferred to play everything by ear because planning required -study, and Scyth felt that study for the sake of study consumed too -much time—time that could better be spent in the pursuit of fun and -games.</p> - -<p>Teach them the language and drop them in Greater New York and they -would be lost among Manhattan's millions. Better change their clothing, -though. Striped shorts, Greek sandals, a Sam Browne belt across a bare -chest, and a Roman toga of iridescent changing hues is not the kind of -costume seen on Fifth Avenue.</p> - -<p>Aside from their costume they were human to the last detail. Even their -speech, when translated, sounded like the human tongue. They used -slang, elision, swearwords and poor grammar. They made bum jokes and -puns. They sounded more like displaced earthmen than technicians from a -culture that had been establishing galactic centers of population for -thirty thousand years.</p> - -<p>"You're certain?" asked Bren.</p> - -<p>Scyth nodded. "Dead certain now. It was that last computation that sold -me."</p> - -<p>"Then I'd better shut down."</p> - -<p>Chat Honger shook his head. "We've got a job to do. We're behind -schedule now, fellows, because of this question. We've got a beacon to -start here, I say let's get along with it and bedamned to the—"</p> - -<p>"You can't," said Bren. "The first time you put down in the log that -this is a middle sequence flare-star, right smack-dab in the middle of -Yalt Gangrow's Diagram, the Bureau of Colonization is going to ask you -if you took a look for habitable planets. Then—then what, Scyth?"</p> - -<p>Scyth Radnor shrugged. "The answer is 'yes' we took a look and we -found one, just at the right distance, the right size, and the right -conditioning. To say nothing of upper atmosphere and other data made by -observation. So Planet Three is about as habitable as Marandis itself."</p> - -<p>Chat grunted. "Looked for any signs of life?"</p> - -<p>Scyth nodded. "The phanobands are as dead as you-know-what. The -machinus fields are all as dead as one might expect this far from -any established route. There are a few bits and dabs of stuff on the -radiomagnetic spectrum which show a recurrent pattern too fast to be -anything of natural phenomena, however. I say we ought to take a look."</p> - -<p>Chat shook his head slowly. "I didn't expect to find it inhabited. But -even knowing it is habitable is—"</p> - -<p>Bren said, "If mere habitability is all you're after we can go ahead -and establish our beacon and leave Planet Three to be handled later. A -beacon wouldn't ruin the planet itself, you know."</p> - -<p>Scyth said, "We'd better take a look-see anyhow. That last computation -on the radiomagnetic stuff looked too much like man-made radiation to -me."</p> - -<p>Bren Hallow smiled. "Look," he said slowly, "If this planet is -inhabited, how come the Bureau of Colonization doesn't know about it. -Not one case in the history of Marandis shows the discovery of an -inhabited planet that—"</p> - -<p>Chat interrupted, sourly, "that didn't stem from Marandanian origin. -But how about the several cases of spacewreck? Look what we're doing. -We're setting up beacons along a rift through the galaxy from Marandis -to the Spiral Cluster. We found this rift after years of hard work -and galactic surveying and exploring, and both of you know just how -fabulous it is. Well, suppose someone found it twenty thousand years -ago and got marooned?"</p> - -<p>"So what do we do? Take a run to Planet Three and radiate machinus -fields all over space? Not until we know. So, Scyth, can you ducky us -up a high-sensitivity job out of one of the standard menslators?"</p> - -<p>"I think so. D'you think it will work?"</p> - -<p>"If there is a primitive culture of the most low-grade organization -there, there will also be one or more leading characters. A man of fame -or power—or infame and power—whose person will be in the active minds -of a large number of hypothetical inhabitants. We should be able to -get some sort of response even if the whole thing is primitive as all -get-out. But let's take a look before we do anything that's likely to -get us into trouble. We're late now, another few hours isn't going to -hurt much more."</p> - -<p>The discussion in the dome on Mercury's dark side abated as the trio -went to work. Scyth began to tinker with his menslators; Chat began -to prowl the confines like a caged animal, thinking deeply, and Bren -Hallow went back to his massive equipment that was designed to create a -galactic beacon.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On this Third Planet of Sol there were still captains and kings and -presidents and commissars and a couple of dictators and a new invention -or two, all of which professed to be gentle guardians of the public -rights. Only the names had changed, some in violence and some in peace. -The names of places were about the same; a few had disappeared in the -heat of ideology, but by and large things and people persisted despite -atoms, politics and the cussedness of human nature. Youth was still -going to hell—and old age was still fuddy-duddy.</p> - -<p>One apparent change might have been noticed by a man of the middle of -the century, and even he would have expected it.</p> - -<p>The history of this change reads like this:</p> - -<p>A few years after Global War I, the manufacturer of a breakfast food -product known as "Oatflakes" realized a rather monumental increase in -the sale of his product. Conscientious investigation showed that this -increase was not due to the public becoming addicted to oatmeal as a -morning, noon and night diet (with a midnight snack tossed in) but -entirely due to a new plaything called the "Wireless." Wireless, it was -found, required as a major component about a quarter of a mile of wire -wound around the cylindrical box in which the oatflakes were packed.</p> - -<p>Some years later, when the first home-manufacture of radio sets slowed -because of professional manufacture of commercial radio, the sale of -Oatflakes dropped to normal. At this point the manufacturer of the -food product realized that the pathway to high sales was not along the -contents, but along the package. Let the public buy the stuff for the -box, or the box-top. If he wants to eat the stuff on the inside, that's -his business!</p> - -<p>So in the early-middle years of the century there arose a character -called Hopalong Cassidy, who portrayed an Old West chivalry and heroic -strength great enough to sell boxtops by the gross ton. He tied-in -sales with toy and clothing makers until business reached the Law of -Diminishing Returns. After selling spurs for roller skates the brains -ran out of ideas and turned to new fields.</p> - -<p>Space travel was the coming thing, so the youth of the land turned to -Tom Corbett, Space Cadet.</p> - -<p>Tom Corbett's only trouble was the same as the difficulty encountered -by one Frank Merriwell fifty years earlier. After twenty years, Tom -Corbett became the oldest undergraduate in Space Academy, just as -Merriwell became the oldest undergraduate at Yale. The youth of the -race wanted a real spaceman, full fledged and heroic, and so they got -it.</p> - -<p>Meet Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol....</p> - -<p>The sleek spacecraft landed and the clouds of hot dust rose almost to -the spacelock, driven up by the fierce reaction blast. A hundred yards -from the Patrol cruiser lay the broken spacecraft of Roger Fulton, -arch-fiend, cornered at last.</p> - -<p>The spacelock opened and Dusty Britton looked out through a wisp of -the deadly radioactive dust. He was clad in the uniform of The Space -Patrol: black breeches and dark blue whipcord shirt piped in gold. -Calf-length black polished boots. His head was bare, and the collar -of his dress shirt was open wide enough to show the fine muscles of -his upper chest and shoulders. He was blondish with a wide open face -of the type that is associated with laughing-at-danger. His physique -was almost marvelous, slender-waisted, broad-shouldered, long-legged, -and agile-armed. His arms and hands and face were tanned from the -radiations of Outer Space and there were the million little wrinkles -about his eyes that were natural, not because of age, but because of -the price one pays for being a Spaceman. At his hip swung the secret -sidearm of The Space Patrol, a raygun far more deadly than the Colt .45 -in the hands of him who knew its use.</p> - -<p>Dusty Britton took a step forward to the edge of the spacelock, -took a deep breath, and then jumped down into the floating cloud of -radioactive dust kicked up by the landing blast. Within seconds he was -out of the cloud again and racing across the ground to the ship of -Roger Fulton which had landed askew.</p> - -<p>His crew appeared in the spacelock and looked down, not daring to drop -into that horror, knowing that they were not as fast as Dusty Britton -and could not make it through in time to be safe.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Across to the wrecked spacer he went, boldly breaching the ruined -spacelock. Along the corridor he went warily until he came to the -control room. He kicked the door open and walked in, poised lightly on -the balls of his feet, lithe and ready to spring like a stalking cat.</p> - -<p>Then Dusty Britton faced his arch-enemy, Roger Fulton. Roger Fulton -wore a three-day beard, his clothing was stained and torn and his hair -unkempt. Fulton watched Britton with cold, angry eyes.</p> - -<p>"Now," said Dusty Britton harshly, "Let's have it, Roger!"</p> - -<p>Very slowly and very carefully, Roger Fulton's hands found the buckle -of his blaster-belt and unfastened it. He let it drop, putting out a -leg so that belt and blaster slid easily to the floor. As it reached -his toe, Roger Fulton kicked it to one side. He shook his head and -sneered at Dusty Britton.</p> - -<p>"I should draw and fight the fastest man in The Space Patrol?" sneered -Roger Fulton. "I surrender. You'll never blast an unarmed man, Britton!"</p> - -<p>Dusty tossed his head. Keeping one eye on Roger Fulton, Dusty sidled -across the control room to where Barbara Crandall was tied to a chair. -Her eyes were soft for Dusty as he stripped the gag from her mouth and -untied her bonds with his left hand. She sat up, rubbing her wrists and -working her mouth, trying to tell Dusty something important that would -not come through the cramped muscles.</p> - -<p>Dusty turned to Roger Fulton. "I've waited for this moment," he said. -Quickly he unbuckled his own blaster and tossed it aside. Then he -stalked forward, poised to strike, his hands opening and closing at his -sides. "Man to man, Fulton. That is, if there's enough man in you to -fight!"</p> - -<p>Roger Fulton crowed, "Sucker!" and went into whirlwind action. His hand -darted inside his shirt and came out with a tiny miniblast.</p> - -<p>There came the throbbing sound of raw energy and a flash that blinded. -Yellowish smoke curled out and surrounded the scene. Barbara Crandall -screamed and tried to get to her feet but the hours of being tied had -numbed her muscles and she fell back into her chair helplessly. The -yellowish cloud billowed higher in the control room and began to thin.</p> - -<p>Then out of the cloud walked Dusty Britton. He held his right hand by -the wrist, shaking it with his left. "Stunned a bit," he smiled bravely.</p> - -<p>"But how—?"</p> - -<p>Dusty opened the fingers of his right hand and let a miniblast fall -to the floor, its charge gone, its usefulness ended. "He tried the -old hidden-gun trick," said Dusty. "But two can play that game. Roger -Fulton will never menace honest spacemen again!"</p> - -<p>The music swelled as the scene faded out; a cheer from Dusty's crew -finished off one more opus of Dusty Britton and The Space Patrol.</p> - -<p>It was a special occasion, this showing. It was Noon in New Mexico, -but the showing had gone out across a worldwide instantaneous network -no matter what time it was at the receiving end. In some places it was -late in the morning, in some places early, others had this showing late -at night. But people were watching back and forth across the face of -the Earth.</p> - -<p>The film came to end, there was the white flash, then an intermittent -flicker as cross-country synchronization took hold. (This flicker was -done with an eye toward the dramatic; worldwide networks could latch in -without a wink of the screen anywhere in the world.) An announcer came -on with the statement that everybody had been waiting for:</p> - -<p>"And now we take you to Dusty Britton in person, from White Sands -Spaceport in New Mexico!"</p> - -<p>A flash and a thundering boom shattered the air and a sonorous voice -announced: "X Minus Thirty Minutes!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>White Sands Spaceport was a broad flatland, ringed by thousands of -people. In the middle stood a three-stage rocket, waiting; its distance -making it look like a small model. In the foreground was a small -reviewing stand, and on the stand stood Dusty Britton, resplendent in -his Space Patrol uniform. He was extending a hand towards a youngster -about twelve, dressed in a miniature Space Patrol uniform, complete -with a miniature edition of the famous "Dusty Britton" blaster at his -hip.</p> - -<p>The lad saluted Dusty; Dusty saluted back.</p> - -<p>Then from his shirt pocket Dusty took a small box and an engraved piece -of paper.</p> - -<p>"Junior Spaceman Harold Dawson, it is my pleasure to award you this -Medal of Spaceman's Honor.</p> - -<p>"I am informed that upon July Seventeen, at Thirteen Hundred Hours -local time, you, Harold Dawson, Spaceman (Jg) full aware of the dangers -that threatened, did without thought of your personal safety, wade deep -into the shifting sands of Mudlark Lake and from that deadly quicksand -return your smaller sister to safety. For valor and for gallantry, I -present you with the Order of The Golden Heart!"</p> - -<p>With a flourish, Dusty pinned the decoration on the proud youngster's -chest. The medal glittered there, a small heart of gold surrounded by -rings like those of Saturn, carved in flat relief.</p> - -<p>Then with another exchange of salutes, Dusty Britton went down the -steps and into a waiting spaceport jeep and while the crowd cheered -wildly, Dusty was driven across the sands to the spacecraft.</p> - -<p>With tolerant parents permitting their young to watch this live, -in-person show no matter what time it was across the earth, it is not -hard to believe that during these many minutes there were more people -thinking about Dusty Britton than there had ever been people thinking -about any other person at any one time in the course of history.</p> - -<p>And so Scyth Radnor, tinkering with his menslator on Mercury, trying -to tune it to some response that would deliver definitive thought, -caught much more than he anticipated. In fact, it nearly overloaded the -device.</p> - -<p>"Any doubt?" he asked with a twisted smile.</p> - -<p>"Nope," from Bren.</p> - -<p>"I pass," added Chat.</p> - -<p>Scyth said, "So instead of being an uninhabited planet, we have a -rather high culture, complete with space travel. This Dusty Britton -must be quite a hero. But how in the name of the Great Space can -they have space travel without machinus fields or some knowledge of -phanoband radiation?"</p> - -<p>"Maybe their space travel is—er—"</p> - -<p>"Now look, you're not suggesting that people with a Space Patrol are -riding ships with tailburners? Rockets? What a horrible thought."</p> - -<p>Bren shook his head. "Our forefathers lived through it."</p> - -<p>"Not many of them," grunted Scyth.</p> - -<p>Chat objected. "Read that history you dislike so much. You'll find that -our ancestors went through hundreds of years wallowing across space to -the planets in reaction-type spacecraft. Chemico-atomic rockets, if you -please."</p> - -<p>"Let's stop the argument and get along with the main problem," said -Bren. "What are we going to do about them?"</p> - -<p>"Well, we can't set up a beacon with them here. So we'll just have to -take the proper measures."</p> - -<p>"That'll be quite a project. Whole colonies and—"</p> - -<p>"That they haven't got yet. They're at the outpost stage; the -scientific expedition stage. Their moon has less than a hundred people -on it, their Mars has been visited only three times, and their Venus -only once previously. This project that Dusty Britton is going on -is the second Venus rocket, the first one being sent as an orbital, -round-trip manned-job for observational purposes. So we can set up our -barytrine field without causing a lot of distress, and then we can go -on preparing our space beacon."</p> - -<p>Bren nodded and Chat said, "You're the handiest man with menslators and -the like, Scyth. You're also the guy that can think fast on his feet. -We elect you to go to the Earth and contact this Dusty Britton and -explain to him so that he can tell his people what is going on."</p> - -<p>Bren nodded. "Take the ship and go, Scyth. But use the driver as little -as possible. We'd still like to keep this rift secret, you know. We're -working for Transgalactic, not the whole damned shipping business."</p> - -<p>Not long after, on its secondary drivers which did not radiate enough -to make direction-finding much better than haphazard, the spacecraft -rose from Mercury and headed toward Earth.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">II</p> - - -<p>Dusty Britton entered the lower cabin of the three-stage rocket and -flopped into a chair. "Quite a show," he said with a trace of scorn.</p> - -<p>Martin Gramer, the producer of the long series of Dusty Britton -pictures puffed his cigar and nodded with self-satisfaction. "Not bad," -he said. "Not bad at all."</p> - -<p>"Gramer, how the hell long is this nonsense going to go on?"</p> - -<p>"Until you're ready to retire."</p> - -<p>"I'm ready now."</p> - -<p>"For good?"</p> - -<p>"I could do something else, you know. After all, I am an—"</p> - -<p>Martin Gramer eyed the husky young man with derision. "You say 'actor' -and I'll blow a gasket," said Gramer.</p> - -<p>"Then what the hell am I doing here?" roared Dusty.</p> - -<p>"You're here because you have an honest-looking face and a pair of -broad shoulders to go with it. You're the living embodiment of John -Darling Trueheart, and you can act the part, providing some bright guy -lays out the floor plan and coaches you."</p> - -<p>Dusty growled, "Why not hire the bright guy?"</p> - -<p>"Because he's got a face that would scare children and the physique of -an underfed fieldmouse. Pull you out of that hero role you're in and -you'd fall so flat on your face that folks would be calling you Old -Doormat. Now snap out of it, Dusty, and be glad you've got hold of a -good thing. Stop looking for something you couldn't handle."</p> - -<p>Angrily Dusty got up out of his chair. "I suppose you think it's fun to -have to go roaming around the country wearing this jazzed-up surveyor's -suit with a three-pound chunk of rusty iron clanking on my hip."</p> - -<p>"To date they've sold three and a quarter million replicas of that -Dusty Britton Blaster you're so contemptuous of, and you've received -ten cents for every one that crossed the counter. What's so damned bad -about that?"</p> - -<p>"I feel silly."</p> - -<p>Gramer roared with laughter, then cut it to one short bark as he cooled -down to eye Britton angrily. "What's so damned silly about being a -model of honor and respect for several million kids?" he demanded.</p> - -<p>"Did you ever think how imbecilic it sounds to be Dusty Britton of The -Space Patrol, with no space to patrol, wearing a blaster that doesn't -blast? And wearing a pack of medals stamped out in the model shop? What -does it all add up to?"</p> - -<p>Martin Gramer tossed the stump of his cigar at the disposal chute and -faced Dusty with a hard expression. "It adds up to a lot, Dusty. It -adds up to a damned good living for you. It adds up to—maybe something -you're too dumb to understand, but I'll spiel it off anyway—being -an ideal. Damn it, man, there's millions of kids in this world that -eat, think and dream about the Space Patrol and Dusty Britton. You're -an idol as well as an ideal, Dusty. Kids follow a big name man. It's -a darned sight better that they follow an ideal rooted in virtue, -strength, honesty and chivalry than to have them trying to emulate -characters like Shotgun Hal Machin or Joseph Oregon."</p> - -<p>"Yeah," drawled Dusty, "But do you know what it means?"</p> - -<p>"You tell me your version, Dusty. As if I hadn't heard your gripe -before."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The disgruntled actor took a deep breath, opened his mouth, but then -closed it again. He let out most of the blast he was preparing and -said, quietly but disgustedly, "Why waste my breath? Dusty Britton -doesn't smoke. Dusty Britton drinks soda pop and milk. The only women -in Dusty Britton's life are his aged mother and his younger sister. -Dusty Britton's biggest gamble is when he offers to bet a Saturnstone -on this or that. Hell's Eternal Fire, Gramer, do you realize that I -can't even date a dame for a dance because 'Kids don't care for the -mush stuff!' and my private life is not my own? I can't even swear, -god-dammit!"</p> - -<p>Gramer eyed Dusty cynically. "You seem to get along."</p> - -<p>"Sure. I get along. When I shuck this monkey suit and dress like a -human being. But you know what happens? When I turn up at some joint, -do I get introduced as <i>The</i> Dusty Britton? Like hell I do. I'm treated -like any of the rest of the dopey tourists. Herded like cattle to the -rear seats, while a tomato like Gloria Bayle lushes in with her fourth -husband and gets the works on the house."</p> - -<p>"You make my heart bleed, Dusty."</p> - -<p>"Your heart never bled anything but vouchers," snapped Dusty. He -fumbled in his hip pocket and pulled out a flask.</p> - -<p>Gramer did not say a word.</p> - -<p>"Well, aren't you going to give me an argument?" demanded Dusty.</p> - -<p>"No. You can't be seen."</p> - -<p>"But someone's likely to smell bourbon on my breath."</p> - -<p>"No one that counts. And by the time we get back—"</p> - -<p>Dusty stopped raising the flask in midair. "Get back—?" he roared. -"Get back. Look, Gramer—"</p> - -<p>"Sit down, Dusty. Take it easy."</p> - -<p>"Gramer, what goes on here? You're not suggesting that we take off in -this fire-breathing hot water boiler, are you?"</p> - -<p>"You've read all the advertisements."</p> - -<p>"Yeah, but nobody with sense would take ad-writer's copy for anything -but guff."</p> - -<p>Outside, a bomb burst with an ear-splitting racket. A stentorian voice -thundered, "X Minus Five Minutes!"</p> - -<p>"Ye Gods, you're really going through with this madman's publicity -scheme?"</p> - -<p>Gramer smiled. "Sure. It's just to Venus; but you can bet your life -that every kid that sees this take-off on video or here on the field -will be dreaming of the fabulous adventures you'll be having. Those -kids <i>know</i> this is for real, Dusty."</p> - -<p>"Include me elsewhere," mumbled Dusty. He started for the spacelock.</p> - -<p>"You can't let those kids down!" roared Gramer.</p> - -<p>Dusty paused at the sill of the spacelock. "Gramer," he said cynically, -"I'm not letting anybody down. I'm just keeping the hide of Dusty -Britton in one unscarred piece."</p> - -<p>"But the public—"</p> - -<p>"That's what you've got press agents for, Gramer. So you can get your -high-priced publicity men to run a few miles of paper explaining how I -happen to have left this shooting star four minutes before take-off!"</p> - -<p>"Dusty, you're a no-good louse."</p> - -<p>"But a whole one. And let me tell you this, Gramer, you're less worried -about the state of youthful morals than you are about losing the thread -of a good, high-selling series. So I'm going to sail out of here as -though I was scared to death of rockets—which I sure as hell am—and -you're going to tell some bright explainist to get busy earning the -dough you pay him. And when the smoke is all cleared away, I'll be safe -and you'll be safe, and Dusty Britton will continue to go rolling along -and the box office will continue to come rolling in. Spend a few short -months in space? Not while the geegees are running at Hialeah!"</p> - -<p>"But Dusty—"</p> - -<p>"Space? Bah! Nothing, floating gently from vacuum to void and back -again. Not for Dusty Britton!"</p> - -<p>Dusty paused long enough to run splayed fingers through his hair and -then he headed for the spacelock with a determined step.</p> - -<p>"Wait!" roared Gramer.</p> - -<p>Dusty paused.</p> - -<p>"The least you could do is to go out of here not looking like Dusty -Britton. Don't be an ass! I'll cover for you, but you've got to help!"</p> - -<p>"All right but—" Outside another bomb racketed and the amplifier -announced laconically, "X Minus Three Minutes!" and startled Dusty with -the realization that he did not have much time. "—make it quick!"</p> - -<p>"You—there!"</p> - -<p>A technician coming up the ladder looked startled.</p> - -<p>"Fifty bucks to swap clothing with Britton, here."</p> - -<p>"Done," and the tech started to peel. He balked at Dusty's famous -'Blaster'? "That's worth another—"</p> - -<p>"Another fifty—dammit!" agreed Gramer. "Now, wave out the door while -Dusty leaves."</p> - -<p>The roar that went up was for their beloved hero waving out of the -spacelock, not the tech that came down the ramp with a rush, followed -by the portly Martin Gramer. The spacelock swung closed as the -spaceport jeep pulled away with Dusty and Gramer in the back.</p> - -<p>They were a half mile away when the thunder came. No one even noticed -them wending their way through the crowd, for every eye on the field -was looking upwards, straining to see the spacecraft that was carrying -Dusty Britton and The Space Patrol off to new adventures.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>About a hundred miles off the coast of Baja California, Scyth Radnor -sat in the control room of the big spacecraft. The dome was awash. -Scyth sat high in the dome watching the pleasantly lazy progress of a -forty foot schooner that was coming in his direction. It was a pretty -sight and Scyth appreciated it even though he had been born on Marandis -some thirty thousand years after the sail as a functional device had -been outmoded. Sail, to Scyth, was strictly a vacation sort of thing, -just as it was to Dusty Britton and a few billion other people whose -lives are geared to a time-table except for vacation time.</p> - -<p>If there was any puzzlement over this, it was because Scyth's menslator -was not following the rocket, now laboring in free flight towards -Venus. Dusty, according to what Scyth had been able to pick up, -should have been there instead of here. But Scyth was not the burning -inquisitive type. He knew that there was some explanation and that he -could afford to wait until it was given instead of wasting a lot of -energy trying to figure out the motives of a member of a race unknown -to him.</p> - -<p>He had better things to contemplate.</p> - -<p>In the field of his telescope he could see a sight he approved of.</p> - -<p>It was not Dusty Britton, lazing easily near the wheel of the schooner, -keeping the helm steady with his left foot because his hands were -occupied with a drink on one and a cigarette in the other. It was -Barbara Crandall, lying on the cabin on a blanket. Her ankles were -crossed and the arch of the upper foot was high and graceful. One -thigh, slightly higher than the other, glinted from the sunshine, dark -tan. Her breasts pointed at the sky, molded in dazzling white that -contrasted sharply against the healthy, animal tan of her flat tummy. -There were many more square feet of healthy hide showing than there -were of the white shark-skin affair she wore, and Scyth approved of the -view.</p> - -<p>As he watched her, Dusty drained his drink, tossed his cigarette -overboard, and called:</p> - -<p>"Hey, Barb! Get us another quart, will you?"</p> - -<p>Scyth did not hear it, for his menslator was by no means that competent -a device. He just watched and wondered what they were saying.</p> - -<p>Barbara called back, "Out of it already?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah. I'd get it myself but someone's got to drive this rig."</p> - -<p>"Don't mind." She stretched languorously and stood up, stretching high; -pulling in her stomach and arching her back with her arms stretched -high above her head. Scyth whistled inadvertently as her body went -taut against the wisps of dazzling white that crossed her breasts -and hips. She came along the cabin top, dropped into the cockpit, -and disappeared into the cabin. She came out a moment later with a -bottle which she opened and handed to Dusty. She took the wheel while -he poured. They toasted one another. They sat side by side, their -shoulders touching.</p> - -<p>"Nice," she said quietly.</p> - -<p>"You bet."</p> - -<p>"Nice, quiet and peaceful."</p> - -<p>Dusty addressed his glass and held it high. "Here's to the G. D. Space -Patrol."</p> - -<p>"What are you supposed to be doing?"</p> - -<p>Dusty laughed. "I don't know. I'll find out when we get back. Gramer -will have some flanged-up explanation right and ready for me."</p> - -<p>"You'd better hope that the G. D. Space Patrol doesn't catch you all at -sea with me."</p> - -<p>"Phooey," he said. He pursed his lips and Barbara gave him a gentle -peck that made Scyth's blood bubble slightly.</p> - -<p>"Phooey nothing," she said. "You'd be—er—cashiered. Imagine a member -of The Space Patrol consorting with a woman."</p> - -<p>"What's good enough for pappy is good enough for me."</p> - -<p>Barbara chuckled knowingly. "Where are we heading, if it's of any -importance?"</p> - -<p>"There's an island dead ahead. We might camp on the beach for the -night. It's fine clean sand and—"</p> - -<p>"You mean that hummock over there?"</p> - -<p>"Hummock—humm—Good Lord!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The hummock, dome of Scyth's spacecraft, began to rise out of the -sea. Yard after yard it rose, coming upward glistening wet, the sea -water running down in rivulets along its sleek flank. Ponderously and -inexorably it rose with a steadiness of living rock. Yet it carried the -air of feather-lightness, of an untold monster of sheer power held in -easy leash. This was no rocket, straining against the formidable pull -of gravity; this was a thing above material forces, its engines idling, -its control in complete command. Without a second glimpse it was no -spacecraft of Earth.</p> - -<p>Up out of the sea it rose until its hundred yards towered above them. -The spacelock was just above the waterline when the rising stopped -and the alien spacecraft stopped, rock-steady. It was poised on its -inexplicable driving forces with the same confident ease that an -elevator shows when poised on its cables at the twentieth floor of a -building. It stood rock-still and let the ocean waves break against its -sleek, polished metal flank.</p> - -<p>Whatever it was, Dusty did not like it.</p> - -<p>He kicked the auxiliary engine into life, loosed the halyards and let -the sails drop. He turned the helm hard as the engine roared into full -throat. But the schooner defied its helm and aimed bowsprit-on to the -spacelock of the spacecraft, starting through the sea like a dolphin -toward the ship of space. The engine raced without bite because the -ship was being hauled forward by some unknown force faster than the -screw could drive it; the helm shuddered but had no effect, it tried -to slue the stern sidewise but only succeeded in making the hull -strain out of line. The wheel whipped out of Dusty's hand and spun to -dead-ahead.</p> - -<p>Dusty left the helm and dived into the cabin. He flipped on his radio -and waited with rising panic while the tubes warmed and the meter -rose to the red line that meant that it was ripe and ready for use. -He grabbed the microphone, flipped the bandswitch to the Coast Guard -Frequency, and yelled:</p> - -<p>"This is Dusty Britton of the schooner Buccaneer. We are about a -hundred miles off the coast of Baja California. Help! We are attacked -by an alien spacecraft! Help! This is—"</p> - -<p>He let his voice trail off because the output meter dropped abruptly to -zero. Something had gone kaput.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">III</p> - - -<p>Dumbly frightened at the face of the unknown, Dusty was far more -frightened at being confined in the cabin of his schooner than he was -of the nameless horror he would have to face above. He left the cabin -in a hurry, and with mental desperation he turned deliberately to face -the danger in the hope of getting it over with. He figured there would -be less anguish if it came quickly.</p> - -<p>The spacelock door was open wide and a man was standing there with a -fluted-barrelled thing in his hand. On the deck were droplets of copper -still hot enough to send up little wisps of smoke from the deck. The -stub end of the antenna was melted down in a blob. As Dusty looked from -Scyth Radnor to his ruined antenna and back again, Scyth leaned back in -the spacelock and dropped his weapon. Then he made a relaxed show of -sitting on the sill of the airlock with his feet dangling almost to the -tips of the waves. He looked relaxed and calm and the trace of a smile -was on his face; the kind of smile that would open into honest pleasure -if he were greeted with the same.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"I am sorry," he said. "I am Scyth Radnor of Marandis. Despite the -fact that I was forced to ruin your antenna, I do come on a peaceful -mission, Dusty Britton."</p> - -<p>"Yeah—" mumbled Dusty stupidly. Barbara was leaning flat against the -mast, white-faced under her tan.</p> - -<p>"Believe me, Dusty. I mean no harm. I did have to prevent you from -broadcasting that which would bring a bad impression of me to your -people."</p> - -<p>Scyth reached up and pressed a button in the wall of the spacelock -above his head. The sill of the spacelock came out abruptly in an -extensible runway, carrying Scyth forward over the deck of the -Buccaneer. Scyth dropped to the deck and stood facing Dusty with a hand -extended.</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" stammered Dusty. "And how come you talk our -language?"</p> - -<p>Scyth pointed to the tiny case slung around his neck. "This is a -menslator," he explained. "When used in direct conversation with a man -of another tongue, it acts to translate for both parties their meaning. -It isn't perfect by any means, but it does help to make people of -different tongues understand one another." Scyth smiled and then said, -"For a quick and amusing explanation, observe this." Scyth clicked the -switch off and began to speak. His speech was utterly comprehensible to -Dusty and Barbara at first, but Scyth clicked the little switch after -he had said a few words. They heard Scyth like this:</p> - -<p>"<i>Fa d snall id</i>, an expression meaning to consign to the region of -theological punishment, which when repeated through the menslator -becomes 'Go to hell!' See?"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded dumbly. Barbara relaxed slightly.</p> - -<p>"Now," said Scyth, "I am from Marandis. Marandis is a planet only a few -thousand light-years from the Galactic Center, which makes it nearly -thirty thousand light-years from here. Marandis is the seat of the -Galactic Government. Look, Dusty, I came here to explain all this to -you. There is a lot to say, and there is a lot you must take on faith -until you know all of it. Let's relax. Will you come aboard my ship and -have a drink? It's comfortable there and—"</p> - -<p>"No!" snapped Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Nobody, but nobody, is going to get me in any space ship," said Dusty -positively.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Scyth eyed Dusty queerly. His thoughts would have been obvious to -anybody but Dusty and Barbara. Scyth was trying to justify in his own -mind the attitude of a High Brass in The Space Patrol (<i>any</i> space -patrol) who would not enter a spacecraft. Scyth finally decided that -Dusty's reticence was due to Dusty's suspicious nature. Dusty was -unarmed and he was not getting into a spacecraft capable of carrying -him across the galaxy, perhaps operated by other members of the crew. -There were no other members, but the ship was big enough to have many. -Scyth nodded to himself and smiled at Dusty.</p> - -<p>"As you prefer. I only repeat that I mean no harm and I add that the -salon inside is pleasant. We can all have a—"</p> - -<p>"We've got a drink," blurted Dusty. He turned on his heel and got the -quart from the seat by the helm. He stopped to get a third glass. He -poured.</p> - -<p>Scyth tasted gingerly. "Very smooth," he said. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Bourbon."</p> - -<p>"Bourbon. Tastes like an excellent liquor. Thank you. Now—" Scyth sat -down on the edge of the deck with his feet hanging into the cockpit -and settled himself for a session. "Dusty, we are here because we are -creating a beacon for our galactic spacelanes."</p> - -<p>"Beacon?"</p> - -<p>Scyth nodded. "You have the insular viewpoint," he remarked. "You can -stand at night and point out your destination. But you cannot even see -Marandis from here, even with the finest telescope ever built. Stars -lie in the way, huge gas fields and nebular clouds block fast direct -passage. To chart our course safely past such stellar menaces, we -establish beacons at the ends of certain free passages. For instance, -Sol lies at the end of a fifteen hundred light year straightaway from -the last beacon we set up. Here at Sol a slight turn in the course -is made and there is another straightaway for a thousand light-years -toward the Spiral Cluster. We—my friends and I—are charting the -course through a rather interesting rift from Marandis to the Spiral -Cluster. This rift, along which you lie, has been hidden from us for -thousands of years. When it is finished it will cut hours from our -travel-time."</p> - -<p>"And maybe so. But what is a beacon and how do you establish it?"</p> - -<p>"Dusty, when a spacecraft is running at fifteen hundred light-years -per hour, a three-day-variable star winks in the sky ahead like a -blinker-light." Scyth chopped his left palm rapidly with the edge -of his right hand. "Wink-wink-wink it goes. And the pilot puts his -spacecraft point-of-drive on the beacon and holds it there until he -passes it and aims to the next. You—"</p> - -<p>"Variable star!" blurted Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Yes. The three-day variables are used for course markers; the longer -variables are used to denote gas fields, nebular dust, and the like, -and the still-longer beacons are used to denote places where various -well-travelled starlanes meet, cross or merge. It is—"</p> - -<p>"Three day variable—" breathed Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Yes. In three days Sol will rise ten times its present brightness and -fall again to less than one tenth of the present brightness. This is -accomplished by creating an atomic instab—"</p> - -<p>"My God! How can any race live under such conditions?"</p> - -<p>"They cannot. Not unless properly prepared, well taken care of, aware -and ready for it."</p> - -<p>"Look," snapped Dusty. "Why not go out and use some other star for your -damned beacon?"</p> - -<p>Scyth shook his head. "If we were gods," he said quietly, "we could -park the Galaxy on our desk, pick up a broom-straw and by fitting and -trying we could locate the best course through the star-fields. But—"</p> - -<p>"If you were gods," grunted Dusty bitterly, "you could reach in and -move a few stars aside and run your damned channel on a dead line from -one end to the other. So why do you use Sol?"</p> - -<p>"Because the two straightaway lanes that meet at Sol do not meet at -some other star. In one or two cases along this rift the original -surveyors provided alternates in case we ran into trouble. But not on -this one. No, Dusty, we cannot change our plans."</p> - -<p>"But see here—"</p> - -<p>"Dusty, you wouldn't stand in the way of Galactic Civilization, would -you?"</p> - -<p>"You're damn well tootin' I would if it's going to mow me down if I -don't."</p> - -<p>Scyth said soothingly, "Doubtless you have cases on your Earth where a -state highway is surveyed right through someone's home. Tell me, Dusty, -what happens then?"</p> - -<p>"We buy the property at a fair price so that the family can find -another home of the same value."</p> - -<p>"So you don't stand like a barrier in the way of advancement."</p> - -<p>"No we don't. But where are we—" Dusty eyed Scyth with a frown. -"You're not going to tell me that your gang will migrate the people of -Earth to another solar system, lock, stock and barrel?"</p> - -<p>"That would be impossible, of course."</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted. "So we gotta alternately cook and freeze just so your -outfit can run a goddamned traffic pattern through our living room?"</p> - -<p>"Well, now, it's not that bad," said Scyth placatingly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusty did not hear the Marandanian. He was thinking of Los Angeles -suffering under the effects of a variable star. Or, rather, he was -trying to visualize such a condition. His imagination provided -alternating scenes of icy blast and deadly heat, but Dusty's overall -technical knowledge was far too meager to offer him even a slight -glimpse of the real truth. To merely consider Sol varying about one -hundred to one in brightness and warmth every three days was as far as -Dusty could go. What would happen to the weather, the general climate, -agriculture, and all of the rest were far beyond Dusty.</p> - -<p>Even so, the sketchy picture provided Dusty with enough data to say, -"Why, we couldn't go on living on Earth at all!"</p> - -<p>"Right. Which is why I'm here."</p> - -<p>"But you said—"</p> - -<p>Scyth smiled confidently. "I'm not here to preside over the death of -your part of our human race," he said. "I—"</p> - -<p>"Our part of your human race—?" exploded Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Of course," said Scyth in a matter-of-fact tone. "So far as we know, -human life was first spawned on Marandis. About thirty thousand years -ago we became galactic in scope, spreading out, colonizing, expanding, -exploring. Many expeditions left home and were lost. But I'll not -belabor this any more, just accept my word for the following: nowhere -in this galaxy have we found intelligent life that did not spring as an -offshoot of misplaced Marandanian culture."</p> - -<p>"How can you be so damned certain?"</p> - -<p>"The easiest way is to check the cross fertility. It has always worked, -to date at least," said Scyth, inadvertently letting his eyes slide up -and down the very pleasant sight of Barbara Crandall's body. Barbara -knew Scyth's contemplative look and she reacted as any uninhibited -woman does when some man is measuring her. The deep high breath raised -her breasts and flattened her stomach even though she had no great yen -toward wanton promiscuity.</p> - -<p>"I gather, then, that you and your gang are going to do something about -us?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Of course. We have a program for cases like this. Since you cannot -live on a planet rotating about a variable star, we'll move Earth to -another star of the same classification."</p> - -<p>"But—" objected Dusty.</p> - -<p>Scyth went on as though he had not been interrupted. "We'll set up a -barytrine field around Earth which serves to do two things. A barytrine -field cuts the force of gravity that holds Earth to Sol. It also -produces a complete stoppage of objective and subjective time within -the field. Then with machinus force-fields we'll put Earth in motion -towards another star of Sol's general size. In a thousand years you'll -come out of the barytrine field and resume your daily lives under the -light of a brand-new sun. It's as simple as that."</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed Scyth sourly. "Maybe I've got this wrong," he said. "Maybe -you think we live a hell of a lot longer than we do. Maybe you live a -thousand years and more but we—"</p> - -<p>Scyth held up a hand. It was the hand that held the glass, which was -empty. Dusty, reacting as he always did to the sight of an empty glass, -filled it despite the fact that he felt that Scyth Radnor was a long -way from being a friend.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The visitor from space smiled indulgently. "You miss the point, -Dusty," said Scyth, nodding his thanks for the drink. "I said that -the barytrine field produces a complete stasis in time. It will snap -on ... a thousand years will pass ... it will snap off. To us, we will -live and die and never see you again. But for you and yours, if you -drop a marble before the field goes on, time will cease for you until -the field goes off, and your marble will hit the floor a thousand years -from now. You will feel nothing. There will be a tiny flick of light. -If you are watching the sun it will probably blink and return slightly -off-center because we never can be that precise. If you are watching -the stars at night, they will wink out and wink on, and be in a new -pattern. You will feel nothing."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but, look here, we—"</p> - -<p>Scyth smiled again. "Oh, you'll be repaid. We'll raise you from your -present primitive level—"</p> - -<p>"Primitive?"</p> - -<p>Scyth nodded. "Primitive," he said. "You're as primitive to us as your -savages are to you."</p> - -<p>"But—"</p> - -<p>"Look, Dusty, thirty thousand years ago, Marandis was still ahead of -your present state of development. I can say this because your people -at the present time still have no inkling as to the inconsistencies -in the theory of general relativity. Someday soon you will discover -that general relativity does not fit all the cases. Then you will -propose the machinus theory of space-time. The machinus theory works -where relativity does not. Then," glowed Scyth, "you will discover -the phanoband carriers which operate in a way as to completely deny -relativity in every concept. From there you find the barytrine field -forces. But you're still primitive, Dusty."</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed the Marandanian sourly.</p> - -<p>Scyth continued, "You'd find little in common with us," he said. "You'd -find that you would have to re-educate yourself before you could even -understand us. Why, there are people in our culture who would take -advantage of your ignorance."</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded. His hazy knowledge of history presented him with a -costume drama of Sir Walter Raleigh handing over a ten, two fives, and -four ones to Chief Sitting Bull and receiving in return an engraved -bill of sale for the Island of Manhattan. This negotiation was sealed -with a slug of liquor out of a bottle labeled 'Bourbon, Bottled in -Kentucky.' (Pocahontas, standing to one side, received a string of -beads.)</p> - -<p>Scyth went on:</p> - -<p>"The big problem, Dusty, so far as you are concerned is the preparation -of your people. We cannot be precise about the position of the new -sun. We could not possibly hope to keep any semblance of your stellar -geography. When the barytrine field goes on, it will produce an effect -similar to reaching the splice in a reel of film. With no warning, -no pain, strain, nor furor the sun will snap slightly aside to its -new position. On the night-side the stars will flick instantly to a -new pattern. This sort of change would cause great hysteria and fear. -Unless the people are prepared for the sudden change. So, Dusty, you -as a high official in your Space Patrol must carry our message to your -people."</p> - -<p>Dusty said, "But—"</p> - -<p>"You've mentioned the possibility of payment," said Scyth smoothly. -"We expect and intend to pay. But not in money, Dusty. In service -and commerce and in many other ways. For instance, we know that your -group—I cannot call it your 'race' because your race is ours—must -stem from an early expedition and so you are a lost offshoot. As soon -as we can, we will come to you with teachers and learned men to help -you regain your rightful place as a part of our Galactic Culture."</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at Scyth. In his mind churned a hundred objections to the -whole thing. He did not like it at all, but he was logical enough to -realize that his objections would be waved aside and the Marandanians -would go on and do as they planned anyway. On the other hand, maybe if -Dusty Britton were to take a large hand in this affair and carry it off -successfully, Dusty Britton could become a large figure indeed.</p> - -<p>"It will be a bit difficult," he said slowly. "People are not going to -take to the idea of losing their sky and sun and a thousand years out -of the middle of their lives."</p> - -<p>"The thousand years are peanuts. Nobody will notice it. The swap in -suns is only a sentimental objection. One sun is like the next and -we'll see to it that they are as close as can be had. The change in -stellar appearance is deplorable, I admit. But it will give you one -advantage, Dusty. Like most skies, they are divided off into primitive -legendary shapes with neither rhyme nor reason. A cluttered mess. With -a fresh start you can make some reason to the constellations. These -are the sort of arguments you must use, Dusty. As a final reminder, -you must remember that this is what is going to be done. Period. It -is necessary and it cannot be stopped. Therefore you and your people -should accept it and make the best of it. Therefore, in what will seem -like three weeks, you will be by another star, under a strange sky, a -thousand years from this moment. And my people will be there waiting to -help you on your climb to the pinnacle of culture.</p> - -<p>"But now I must go. Take my words back to your leaders, Dusty. You will -go down in history; make the best of it!"</p> - -<p>As abruptly as that—Scyth Radnor arose from the deck of the Buccaneer, -climbed onto his runway, and was drawn back into the big spacecraft. -The spacelock closed smoothly and the huge ship rose silently out of -the sea and arrowed towards the high blue sky. The only noise was the -whistle of its passage through the air above.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Scyth landed beside the bubble on Mercury's dark side not long after. -Chat greeted him with a question about his success and Scyth smiled. -"Naturally they didn't cotton to it," he said. "No one ever would."</p> - -<p>Chat nodded agreement. "They wouldn't stand in the path of advancement, -would they?"</p> - -<p>Scyth chuckled. "I'm getting to be something of a diplomat," he said. -"Not good, but I think adequate."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. First I told them about the beacon and let them ask questions -about it to whet their curiosity. Then I explained what the beacon -was, which horrified them completely, as it should. Then after letting -them cook in their own fright for some time I let them down easy by -explaining how we would help to save them. So now there's nothing to do -but to finish off the job."</p> - -<p>"Right. How long will it take for you to get the barytrine generator -set up and ticking?"</p> - -<p>"Call it a couple of weeks. I'll have to go back to Marandis for the -generator. It may take me a day or two to get it, you know. We'll -have to get our license revised, and we'll have to put a bond against -the safety of this planet Earth, as they call it. Of course, we'll -have lots of time to look for another sun where we can put their -planet; we can do that after the beacon is started and they're out of -danger-distance."</p> - -<p>Bren said, "So the first thing for you to do is to hike back to -Marandis and get your barytrine generator."</p> - -<p>Chat added, "When you take off from here, be sure you go due North -until you're a long way out of line. No use in advertising our -position."</p> - -<p>"Right. I'll fog-off the course as best I can."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">IV</p> - - -<p>Within a few minutes after his return to Mercury, Scyth Radnor was -on his way back to Marandis to make the final arrangements. He took -the long way out of this part of the galaxy and wound his way in an -inextricable pattern to confuse any possible competition. Until the -through-route was surveyed and the first passage made from end to end, -there would be no exclusive franchise; another company might be able to -latch onto one open lane on this route and give them competition.</p> - -<p>Considered as unimportant was the fact that Scyth Radnor took along -with him the beefed-up menslator that had put him on the mental trail -of Dusty Britton. Not that this mattered, the chances were almost -perfect that no one of them would have done anything with it anyway now -that their problem was settled. At least, not Chat or Bren. Scyth might -have played with it in an off moment. He alone had gotten an eyeful of -Barbara Crandall, and while Barbara seemed to be Dusty Britton's woman, -Scyth might have wondered whether there were any more at home like her.</p> - -<p>But Scyth was on his way to the galactic center, out of range of -menslators, even the big permanent installations.</p> - -<p>Scyth, Chat, and Bren are not to be criticized for leaving a job -undone. To them, a mere explanation covered the entire program. They -did not expect the natives to understand the complex ramifications -of the galactic culture any more than a certain native chief could -understand the danger of fishing in Bikini Lagoon some fifty years -earlier.</p> - -<p>In fact, the three of them might have been highly amused at a primitive -culture that had committed the egregious error of placing such a high -value on something of no intrinsic value.</p> - -<p>But back on Earth, the wires buzzed and the headlines screamed, and a -brace of Gramer's press agents were hard put to untangle the mess the -Marandanians had started.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>From the teletypes of Worldwide Press Service:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>UNITED STATES COAST GUARD RADIO TODAY REPORTED A DISTRESS SIGNAL -FROM SCHOONER BUCCANEER OFF COAST OF BAJA CALIFORNIA STOP BUCCANEER -ATTACKED BY QUOTE ALIEN SPACECRAFT ENDQUOTE STOP USE WITH DISCRETION -COMMA BUCCANEER OWNED BY DUSTY BRITTON OF MARTIN GRAMER STUDIOS STOP</p></div> - -<p>An excerpt from the daily column of Garry Granger:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"There is something in the wind that smells like a publicity stunt. -Dusty Britton, our Space Patrol type Sir Galahad supposedly took off -for the Venus jaunt some three weeks ago, but has succeeded in sending -a distress signal from somewhere off the coast of Southern California. -Apparently The Space Patrol is about to meet up with Moby Dick, or -possibly it will be "Ten Thousand Leagues Under The Sea" starring Dusty -Britton. We would like to know two things: one is whether our intrepid -hero actually risked his million dollar neck in a rocket or not, and -the second thing is how much hanky-panky the Coast Guard is going to -stand for. Some things should be kept sacred. We are not very religious -here at the office; but we do believe in the Brotherhood of Man, and -somehow we resent bitterly the use of distress signals as a means of -getting publicity."</p></div> - -<p>Excerpt from a press release from Martin Gramer Productions, Inc.:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Now it can be admitted! Dusty Britton has combined fact with fantasy! -No longer a mere actor, Dusty Britton was called from the space rocket -just a few minutes before take-off time to investigate a secret -report of space operations off the coast of Baja California. If Dusty -Britton reported an attack, it stands to reason that the secrecy -that surrounded the original report is no longer necessary and Dusty -Britton's presence on earth instead of in the space rocket can be -disclosed. We await more detailed information as to the real nature -of—"</p></div> - -<p>From a press-conference held at Arlington, Virginia:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="ph1">SIGNAL FALSE! SAYS F.C.C.!</p> - -<p>"Radar Stations report that no sign of space operations by any agency -other than the Venus Rocket have been observed. Even the early warning -screen operating along the coast of California and Lower California has -nothing to report. The signal of distress is obviously false, and Dusty -Britton will be asked to show just cause for emitting such a report."</p></div> - -<p>A statement from the United States Coast Guard:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Search and rescue squadrons of the Coast Guard were in flight above -the schooner Buccaneer within an hour after the interrupted distress -signal from Dusty Britton. The schooner appeared to be in excellent -condition and was making its way back towards land when sighted. Radio -challenges were ignored but upon flying low, Dusty Britton and an -unknown woman were seen waving from the deck. There seemed to be no -signs of distress, but a Coast Guard cutter is speeding to the ship and -is expected to make contact in the next few hours."</p></div> - -<p>Excerpt from the column of Garry Granger:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"What actor, long noted for his derring-do and his exemplary behaviour -has been in unchaperoned company with a nubile young female in romantic -surroundings? In our youth, heroes were only permitted to kiss their -horses. We applaud the approach to reality, but then we are no longer a -youth."</p></div> - -<p>From the teletypes of <i>The Worldwide Press</i>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Dusty Britton today arrived in port, bearing a tale of a Galactic -Civilization called Marandis. This Galactic Government it seems, -intends to move the Earth to another sun because our position -interferes with their program of running Galactic Highways back and -forth across the trackless wastes of space. Moving Earth is a simple -process, according to Dusty Britton. A mere matter of barytrine fields, -machinus forces, phanoband carriers, and a general abandonment of the -theory of general relativity.</p> - -<p>"From the viewpoint of the scientists interviewed following this claim, -Dusty Britton may or may not have been reading one of his own scripts. -Knowing Dusty Britton of old, we are inclined to call this one: -<i>Manuscript Found In A Bottle</i> with a deep nod at Edgar Allen Poe for -the use of his title.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Foster of the Wellmann Observatory suggested that enough of Dusty -Britton's story was logical to make it sound good. A race traversing -the galaxy at hundreds of light-years per hour would find variable -stars helpful if used as beacons. But Dr. Foster said that Britton's -story was illogically incomplete. If this outfit has the machinery -necessary to move a planet, why not move the stars themselves and -create a straightaway passage from one end to the other without curves -in the course?"</p></div> - -<p>From The Wall Street Journal:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>D' B' ttn Ent' pses-Open 68 Close 43 off 25</p></div> - -<p>Editorial From <i>The Journal of Temperance</i>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Elsewhere on these pages is an apology for not printing the interview -between our science reporter, Miss Agatha Westlake, and Mr. Dusty -Britton. The interview was not concluded because Miss Westlake believed -that she could detect the fumes of alcohol on Mr. Britton. It is -deplorable that the youth of this fair land have put their faith and -their future ideals into the character of a man of such despicable -hidden leanings. A package of cigarettes was visible on the deck of Mr. -Britton's boat and nearby was a small glass of the kind only found in -those dens of iniquity, the formal name of which is forbidden to these -pages.</p> - -<p>"Let us therefore seek a new champion, who will eschew these vices; who -will find it more godlike to extend his gracious invitation of vacation -time to his youthful admirers instead of a woman of low moral fiber. We -feel—"</p></div> - -<p>TIME <i>Magazine</i>, Science Section:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Dr. Willy Ley, in an interview today in his retirement home in Jackson -Heights pointed out that he had always been convinced that the limiting -value of the speed of light was a false theory. Therefore Dr. Ley -concluded that it was entirely possible that an extra-solar race could -have developed interstellar travel.</p> - -<p>"My grandson, Gregory, is aboard the Venus Rocket," said Dr. Ley in -the rich German accent that seventy five years in New York have not -diluted. "I hope to see the day he takes off for Alpha Centauri.</p> - -<p>"But I do feel that there is reason to doubt the story offered by Mr. -Dusty Britton. Certainly the more intelligent persons of any galactic -civilization would be less likely to contact an actor than scientists -or government officials? This story of phanobands, barytrine fields and -menslators sounds too much like the fancies of science fiction to me."</p></div> - -<p>Article in <i>The American Weekly</i>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"With heat rays and weapons of unimaginable power the enemies of the -Earth will swoop down to—"</p></div> - -<p>From <i>The Chicago Tribune</i>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Not since the days of King George III has the threat of foreign -entanglements been so great—"</p></div> - -<p>From <i>The Daily Worker</i>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Without a doubt this advanced culture has developed a perfect galactic -State, capable of serving all men according to their needs. We feel -that a pardonable mistake has been made by their representatives in -contacting a man of Dusty Britton's character, and we will wait with -open arms the return of the galactic emissaries, who will bring with -them the glories of—"</p></div> - -<p>From Mount Palomar:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Variable stars are of natural origin and can neither be started nor -stopped. The theory that such stars are used by a galactic civilization -as beacons and celestial stop-lights is utterly fantastic."</p></div> - -<p>From the teletypes of <i>Worldwide Press</i>:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"Dusty Britton was arraigned today in Federal Court for having -violated the rulings of the Federal Communications Commission and the -international rulings of the Havana Conference of 1972. An indictment -is expected from the grand jury, still in conference.</p> - -<p>"Dusty Britton is charged with having caused the transmission of a -false distress signal. He pleaded not guilty at his arraignment and -will probably plead not guilty if his case comes to trial. A fine -of ten thousand dollars or three years in jail (or both) is the -maximum penalty for a conviction. Public sentiment will probably make -the maximum sentence mandatory; this is an election year and the -Administration is interested in demonstrating that its foremost desire -is to serve the public interest."</p></div> - -<p>Press Release from Cosmic Studios:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"The filming of first run of the new series, <i>Jack Vandal, Space -Rover</i> was completed here after an extensive eighteen day program. -Jack Vandal is patterned after the characters of The Saint and The -Lone Ranger. Unrestricted by the laws that prevent a policeman from -performing his moral duty, hated by the underworld, Jack Vandal is to -become a Robin Hood of Space. The world premiere will take place at The -Palace Theatre, in Greater New York."</p></div> - -<p>Statement from The Office of Scientific Research & Development:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"No evidence has ever been found to corroborate Dusty Britton's -statements that radiation phenomena exist which cannot be explained by -the application of Maxwell's Equations, and which are not subject to -the limitations imposed by the theory of general relativity."</p></div> - -<p>Ruling by the Bureau of Navigation, Marandanian Sector:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>"It is hereby granted that a barytrine field be established about the -Planet Three of Sol, and that Planet Three shall then be transported -and placed in situ near a star of appropriate dimensions. This -enactment is to take place at the convenience of the Transgalactic -Company with the proviso that no inconvenience take place to the -culture of Planet Three. It is ruled herewith that the change in -stellar hemispheres and the revision in planetary pattern is of no -prime importance to a primitive culture.</p> - -<p>"It is further ruled that the loss of approximately one thousand years -of direct time in the inhabitant's life is of no importance since -contact with the external culture has not taken place, and therefore -this loss has no bearing on the primitive culture. At the end of -this period of transmittal, investigatory contact will be made to -formulate a program of enlightenment which will result in the eventual -assimilation of Sol Three into the Grand Galactic Government.</p> - -<p class="ph2">Signed, Sealed, and Delivered<br /> -BuNav, by Direction."</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">V</p> - - -<p>Barbara Crandall opened the door for a quick glance, then opened it -wide. "Oh. It's you!"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded glumly. "Yeah. Surprised?"</p> - -<p>Barbara shrugged. "A bit. When did they let you out?"</p> - -<p>"This morning."</p> - -<p>"Rough?"</p> - -<p>"You said it. Was it rough on you?"</p> - -<p>"A little, but it's been made up for."</p> - -<p>"How come?" asked Dusty looking up.</p> - -<p>She smiled quietly. "I've got legs and a figure," she chuckled. "I've -been cheesecaked all over town as the <i>Star Girl</i> and there's talk of -my getting a part in the Jack Vandal series over at Cosmic Studios."</p> - -<p>"How so? Seems to me that we're both sort of washed up."</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head. "Jack Vandal is a sort of cheerful villain, -you know. He takes delight in bumping off the well-protected crook who -can't be touched by the law. He's hunted by the police and hated by the -underworld—"</p> - -<p>"Spare the gruesome details. They haven't changed in a couple of -thousand years. How come you're not in the dog house?"</p> - -<p>Barbara smiled. "Because the woman in that kind of opus is always a -sort of shady lady herself. It wouldn't do to have an innocent virgin -for the companion of a buccaneer. So with my slightly tarnished -reputation I'm a natural. What happened to you?"</p> - -<p>"The lie detector test."</p> - -<p>Barbara blinked. "Then didn't that prove your point?"</p> - -<p>"I thought it did. But I forgot one thing. Seems that the lie detector, -no matter how good, is capable only of showing whether the character is -telling a falsehood or not."</p> - -<p>Barbara smiled confidently. "So you were telling the truth. Weren't -you?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," grunted Dusty. "Sure I was. But, quoting what's-his-name in the -Bible: 'What is Truth?' One of the court psychologists pointed it out -very clearly. If I firmly believe that the moon turned bright purple -at ten o'clock last night, under a lie detector I'd be credited with a -'Truth' when I said so. In fact, the damned thing would say that I was -telling a lie if I believed that the moon was purple and tried to cover -up by saying that it hadn't changed. Follow?"</p> - -<p>"So what was the verdict?"</p> - -<p>"The verdict was to the effect that I was suffering under some -hallucination—possibly induced by alcohol—which led me into this -story. Therefore my lie-detector acquittal was valid only to prove that -my call for help was, at the time, due to my personal conviction of -danger. I was adjudged temporarily incompetent."</p> - -<p>"What kind of sentence? They didn't just let you go."</p> - -<p>"I've been two weeks in the observation ward of the federal looney -locker. You see, to prove me guilty, they had to show that I had -willfully and maliciously transmitted a false signal, with intent to -deceive and/or for some personal reason. Willful tampering of this -nature comes out as malicious mischief; malicious tampering becomes -a federal offence. Maybe I've got my terms mixed up, but I think you -get the idea, anyway. The end-up was this: Dusty Britton was convinced -of his personal danger, his emission of a distress signal cannot be -called malicious. I am no longer the top star I was once—in fact -Gramer has cancelled my contract on the moral turpitude clause and the -McDougall Office has black-balled me from all productions. So after a -couple of weeks of observation at the spin-bin, they let me free with -an admonition to leave the stuff alone. Barb, have you got a drink?"</p> - -<p>"Sure thing. Look, Dusty, I know what you must think, but please don't -ask me to corroborate your story. Not again."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusty nodded soberly. "I won't. The first time I thought we could -convince 'em. But not any more, kid. One of us in the mud is enough. -We've got to find a new attack."</p> - -<p>Barbara handed Dusty a highball which he sipped before he said, -"Barbara, we've got to do something."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>He looked at her, stunned. "Why?" he cried.</p> - -<p>Barbara took a sip of her own highball. "We won't lose a damned thing -and you know it," she said quietly.</p> - -<p>"A thousand years—"</p> - -<p>"So what?" she asked simply. "Supposing that they were a bit more -accurate than Scyth predicted. Suppose that they took this thousand -years out of our life at a time when you weren't looking at the sun. Do -you realize—" Barbara's voice lowered a bit dramatically, "—or have -you been watching the night sky to see whether they have already?"</p> - -<p>"I have," he admitted with rising excitement.</p> - -<p>"All right," she replied complacently. "Then you surely must realize -that this thousand years out of your life isn't going to change the -stock market a point, or anything else."</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded. "This I can realize. But do you think I like losing -everything but my other shirt? Do you realize that as of this moment -I've got only a couple of thousand bucks tucked away and about as much -prospect of landing another job as a dead fly?"</p> - -<p>"You're not really worried, are you, Dusty?"</p> - -<p>"Why shouldn't I be?"</p> - -<p>"Because as soon as this barytrine field goes on and off and we find -ourselves around another sun, in another sky, you'll be corroborated."</p> - -<p>He looked at her. "Of course—and I've kept my big trap shut, too."</p> - -<p>"You've what?"</p> - -<p>"You don't think I'd be nuts enough to go around telling people 'Well, -if you don't believe me, just wait until next month!' do you?"</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Because then they'd have carefully kept me on ice until after the big -event."</p> - -<p>"After which your story would be corroborated and you'd—"</p> - -<p>"I'd have nothing," said Dusty sharply. "It's not good enough. Sure, -I'd be corroborated, but then I'd be blamed for not being effectual -enough to convince people in the first place. I'd be blamed for not -being the guy I've been depicting on the stage. I've been Dusty -Britton, The Great Hero. But when it comes down to really doing -something, I'm Dusty Britton, Liar First Class. Next it is going to be -Dusty Britton, Helpless Incompetent. I can't just fold my hands and -tell 'em that they can wait and see, and then yelp 'I told you so!' -because if there's anything that people hate it's 'I told you so!' -characters."</p> - -<p>Barbara Crandall looked at Dusty pityingly. "Dusty," she asked softly, -"Just what do you hope to accomplish?"</p> - -<p>"I hope I'll be able to—"</p> - -<p>"No. I know what you want to do. But what I want to know is how."</p> - -<p>"There must be some way—" his voice trailed off.</p> - -<p>"I can't see it. Scyth has probably gone to Marandis to get his -generator. Dusty, do you know where the hell is Marandis?"</p> - -<p>"Somewhere towards the galactic center."</p> - -<p>"I'm told that the galaxy is a hell of a big place. You've about as -much chance of getting there as you have of swimming the Pacific Ocean -with one arm tied behind you. Scyth is gone from here so far that it -takes light thousands of years to get that far. Hell, Dusty, at this -moment, the best resources of all the science of the Earth and the -so-called planetary income couldn't move a housebrick from here to -Venus in less than a matter of months. Alpha Centauri is actually no -more than a dreamer's symbol so far as we're concerned. In fact, you -and I know that Scyth's little friends are somewhere on the dark side -of Mercury getting ready to make Sol a variable. We couldn't get there -for months and months, and then we'd have a hell of a time locating -them, even if we had whatever it might take to get there."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Barbara thought for a minute and then went on, "And if we could direct -the entire Earth, and could call upon anything or anyone, we wouldn't -know where to start. What is a phanoband? Why is a barytrine field? -Even I know that there are a couple of dozen rather brilliant men who -believe that the speed of light is not a limiting velocity, but this is -only a conviction, not founded on any experimental evidence. So maybe -you've got a firm inner drive to go out and prove yourself. But how in -the hell are you going to make headway against a race that considers us -primitive?"</p> - -<p>"We've got to make contact."</p> - -<p>"How? Shall we call Mercury on the phanoband communicators? And what -was that intermediary step? The machinus fields? It sounds like -double-talk to me."</p> - -<p>"It was something about abandoning general relativity for the machinus -theory of space-time," said Dusty, bringing into focus all the science -fiction he had ever read.</p> - -<p>"Got any theories?" asked Barbara pointedly. "Frankly, Dusty, I'd like -to help, but I feel too much like a man trying to come all the way from -the stone age to the atom bomb in ten days. In order to circumvent -their foul plan we've got to abandon a very workable theory in favor -of an unknown something called the machinus theory of space-time, and -then from that we develop something called phanoband radiation, which -produces factors enabling us to reduce the theory to practise and -eventually we take to deep space, find Marandis, and put our case in -front of some sort of bureaucratic something-or-other. Can't see it, -Dusty."</p> - -<p>"So what am I supposed to do?"</p> - -<p>"Sit and take it. What else can you do? Darn it, Dusty, you can't fight -them, and you aren't in any position to join them. We haven't got the -initiation fee, we don't have the address, and we hardly talk the -language."</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at her sourly. "I'd hoped you'd help," he said unhappily. -"You at least know what the score is."</p> - -<p>"Dusty, I'd like to help. I do know what the score is. It's hopeless. -You're trapped in an awkward position. And like a lot of other people, -you are in a position where you can't do a damned thing about it. So -you might as well save your high blood pressure and start looking -around to see what you can make out of it."</p> - -<p>Dusty finished his drink and left. In a trash-can by the alley was -a Dusty Britton Blaster, complete with holster and a tin medal for -sharpshooting. The school-store across the street was displaying a -Jack Vandal mask and a small case containing ten candy cigarettes and -a secret compartment suitable for concealing ten-thousand dollar bills -lifted from lawless characters who might have used the dough to bribe -juries or buy professional gunmen.</p> - -<p>Dusty made his way along the street unrecognized.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The guard at the front gate looked at Dusty with suspicion. Dusty -looked back defiantly; for a number of years the guard had practically -bowed thrice as Dusty approached, Dusty hoped that the habit of -deference was well established.</p> - -<p>"Have you a pass, Mr. Britton?"</p> - -<p>"Now see here, Sam, I don't need a pass and—"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Britton, I've got orders to—"</p> - -<p>"Look Sam. Let's not stall. I want in and I'm going to—"</p> - -<p>"One minute, Mr. Britton. I'll have to call."</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted. "I want to see Doctor Ross."</p> - -<p>"Oh. Well, just a minute."</p> - -<p>The guard called, and Dusty could hear the roar of Martin Gramer, -"Throw the louse out!"</p> - -<p>"Sorry, Mr. Britton. We can't let you in."</p> - -<p>"Look, Sam, I've got trouble. You've got trouble. Do you remember your -younger days, Sam? When you were the top boy at Graphic Arts?"</p> - -<p>"Sure do. Great days, too."</p> - -<p>"What happened, Sam?"</p> - -<p>The smile faded from Sam's face. "I got too old."</p> - -<p>"Sam, all I want is to gab with Dr. Ross for a minute or two. I've got -a great idea. And I'll make you a promise, Sam."</p> - -<p>"Promise?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. I'll promise you that if you let me in right now, and this idea -of mine goes through, that I'll see that you get a good bit in anything -I'm in. We'll work it up from character actor until you're playing -bigger and bigger bits. You can make a comeback, Sam, and I'll help you -then if you help me now. How's about it?"</p> - -<p>Sam looked through the studio gates for a moment, and the thinking -could almost be seen in operation. He had darned little to lose; he -could always blame Dusty's entrance on some dreamed-up excuse, and if -Dusty's idea worked, he might even be able to take credit for having -used some initiative.</p> - -<p>"It's a deal, Mr. Britton. But don't forget me."</p> - -<p>"I won't."</p> - -<p>Dusty went inside, found the main idea-office, and talked himself into -the office of Dr. Ross. These hurdles he found less difficult than the -front gate; possibly due to the fact that once a man was inside the -fence, everyone thought he belonged there.</p> - -<p>Doctor Harold Ross greeted Dusty with surprise.</p> - -<p>"Dusty! How goes it?"</p> - -<p>"Not good. I'm a professional louse."</p> - -<p>"How come?"</p> - -<p>"Don't you read? Forget it. Look, Doc, you're actually the only -scientist I know, so I want to ask a couple of questions."</p> - -<p>"I'll try. But let's not lose sight of the fact that I'm not a credited -scientist, as you put it. I'm a sort of cockeyed physicist whose job is -to see that actors squinting through telescopes see Saturn at the right -angle, and that birds looking through spectroscopes don't point at a -blue triplet and call it the Sodium D Lines."</p> - -<p>"You might be even better than a real physicist of the research kind," -said Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Thanks for them kind words, Dusty. Flattery will get you nowhere."</p> - -<p>"I'm not trying flattery. You've been in this make-believe business for -a long time. That's why you might be able to think it out."</p> - -<p>"Go on, man. Spill your idea. What do you want me to do?"</p> - -<p>"Let's assume that Dusty Britton's wild tale about a man named Scyth -Radnor, from Marandis, is right. And that this guy came out of a -spacecraft parked in the ocean, sitting on the sill of the spacelock -waiting for me. He talked about the death of the general relativity -theory in favor of something called the machinus theory of space-time, -phanobands, menslators and all sorts of things."</p> - -<p>"Yeah? We've been having space warps ever since the days of Jack -Williamson."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusty grinned, perhaps for the first time in weeks. "Look," he said. -"I know the patter well enough. Doc Smith invented the Bergenholm and -Murray Leinster came along with the superdrive and George O. Smith -developed the matter transmitter to a fare-thee-well, but all this guff -is so much birdfood."</p> - -<p>"What are you getting at, Dusty?"</p> - -<p>"I wish I had studied a bit more science," said Dusty plaintively. "But -dammit, I don't know a microfarad from a polysyllabic neutron. But -I'm telling you that my so-called strange fancy is the God's Truth. -Some time in the next couple of weeks the Earth is going to get itself -transplanted. You can either help me now or you can come back later and -tell me that you're damned sorry you tossed me out. Take it or leave -it."</p> - -<p>"All right. So maybe I'll take it. I've only a couple of weeks to lose. -What do you want me to say?"</p> - -<p>"Look, Doc, supposing that you were convinced that interstellar travel -is possible; that these phanobands do exist. That this menslator -is a commercial instrument. And so on. Take the first premise: -faster-than-light travel is a commercial fact due to the development of -a theory called the machinus theory of space-time. Can you do a bit of -hypothetical theorization?"</p> - -<p>"Sure thing. I don't mind. We'll take this on the basis of plenic -syllogistics. Our first premise will be that this menslator works as -your pal Scyth claims."</p> - -<p>"It's Scyth. Not scythe."</p> - -<p>"Then as I put it, the menslator produces the mental image that Scyth -intends. He will say, for instance: 'A gostak distims the doshes,' and -because he means that a professional preparer of comestibles has placed -an unstated number of crustaceans under an open flame, you receive this -statement of Scyth as: 'The cook broiled some lobsters.' Is that clear?"</p> - -<p>"I can follow you," said Dusty. "This much Scyth explained."</p> - -<p>"Good. Now let's look at our commonly accepted definition of -'Mechanus'. This means that it works. In other words we have him -telling us that their culture has developed a 'workable theory of -space-time' which has been taken up after the theory of general -relativity displayed a number of gaping holes. So their 'mechanus -theory of space-time' is a workable theory."</p> - -<p>"And where does this lead us?" asked Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Right back into a circle," said Dr. Ross thoughtfully. "Because if -they've developed interstellar travel due to considerations brought -about by the mechanus theory, that means that they have proved their -theory by practise."</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted half-humorously. "Isn't this like saying that mud is -sticky because it's gooey? Or that winter is cold because of a lack of -heat?"</p> - -<p>Ross nodded. "Or that things fall because of the law of gravity."</p> - -<p>"But aren't all these things a case of defining 'A' in terms of 'A'?"</p> - -<p>"What isn't?" demanded Dr. Ross. "You're not looking for the Universal -Truth, are you?"</p> - -<p>"No, but—"</p> - -<p>"Look, Dusty, the reason that we can afford to accept the fact that one -and one adds up to two is simply due to the fact that one and one adds -up to two in a great majority of cases."</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute, Doc. One and one is always two."</p> - -<p>"Not when you add a quart of alcohol to a quart of water. One and one -here adds up to about one point eight."</p> - -<p>Dusty waved a hand. "That's different."</p> - -<p>"Not by a long shot, Dusty. There are extenuating circumstances. But -this is just a proof of the fact that one and one is not always two."</p> - -<p>"All right. But where does this leave us?"</p> - -<p>"In the same damned circle. Granting that your observations are -correct, proper, and unwarped by the addition of bourbon, Scyth and his -galactic civilization have developed faster-than-light travel which -has resulted in the establishment of a galactic government. But the -explanation of how it is done cannot be derived from the nomenclature -of the theory. Frankly, I have not the faintest idea of how to go about -unravelling the word 'phanoband' unless we take it apart from its -roots. Let's see, now."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Brows furrowed and lips pursed, the physicist thought for a long time -and then looked apologetically at Dusty.</p> - -<p>"I may be off the beam, Dusty, but I have a notion that your own -mind put it together this way: Phan probably pertains to the roots -of phantom, or unreal, or ghostly, or what is commonly referred to -as the 'supernatural.' The so-called supernatural is invariably a -phenomenon which cannot be explained by commonly accepted academic -theory or empirical practise, mostly because the folks who work with it -have neither academic nor empirical data. Incidentally, the 'o' part -of this first phase is undoubtedly a conjunctive vowel stuffed into -the word so that it can be uttered without losing a couple of front -teeth or blowing a vocal fuse, or maybe spraying the listener like a -professional German lecturer. So let's accept the concept of 'Phan' as -something that you cannot explain in common terms."</p> - -<p>"Go on, Doc. You're reducing my case to an absurdity, you know."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Dusty, but that's how I see it. Now, let's take the 'Band' -part of the word. As a disciple of Maxwell, et al, I am hopelessly -incapable of concocting a workable theory of radiation which has -nothing to do with some basic concept of frequency. Frequency, when you -sit down and start analyzing it, is a nice, stable idea that explains -a hell of a lot, Dusty, and as you get into atomics you find that -particle radiation can be mathematically reduced to terms of frequency. -You can actually compute the equivalent frequency of a thrown baseball -or a .22 rifle bullet, you know. Then we get to that high-flung miracle -we call 'resonance' and God protect me from having to deliver a -thirty-minute explanation of resonance."</p> - -<p>"I won't ask you to, Doc. But aren't you getting involved in your own -traps?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am. And I'm sorry. But I can't help it. But you can follow my -fumblings, Dusty. In the first place the radiation is not understood, -which explains your accepting the mental concept as 'Phano' and because -the physics of the radiation must be other than electromagnetic—which -would call for the menslation into 'spectrum' the somewhat ambiguous -term 'band' is assigned in your mental concept of the idea. So the -literal menslation of the word is: 'Unknown mode of radiation' which—"</p> - -<p>"But where are we getting, Doc?"</p> - -<p>"That's what I was approaching, Dusty. This harangue boils down to the -following: these people have a form or type of energy level which is -completely inexplicable to terrestrial science at the present state of -the art. Their terms, when menslated into our level of appreciation, -come out as 'something that works' and 'something that cannot be -defined' which, after all, is like trying to explain to a savage why a -hunk of black rock always turns toward one direction."</p> - -<p>"Hell!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The doctor continued. "Sure. It's hell. Even your own term 'menslator' -which I've picked up as a fine concept is only your own feeble -transliteration of the definition. It does not carry any of the basic -theory. So the fantastic gizmo merely aids in the conveying of an idea -from one mind to another, despite the fact that the two minds place -different values upon the definition of words."</p> - -<p>"But this isn't what I'm getting at, Doc. What I want to know is: -granting the possibility of faster-than-light velocities, what have we -got to explain it?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing. Nothing but your own statements that you believe that this -is possible and that someone has done it. None of us have any evidence -that it is possible, except you. And I am afraid that I must question -your training as a scientific observer."</p> - -<p>"But, Doc, I—"</p> - -<p>"Let's face it, Dusty. You swing about as much weight in scientific -circles as Suzy Richtmeyer, voted last year as Miss Alphatron, parked -on the Caltech boo-hucky showing about three yards of shapely nylon -and thirty-two well-polished teeth. She was gorgeous but ill-educated, -Dusty. She wasn't afraid of getting sterile in a radiation lab. She -was afraid of getting pregnant. But if you sit there and ask me how -anybody could possibly make any sound and workable theory out of what -you describe, I can't see it."</p> - -<p>"Look, Doc, maybe I can't deliver much. But they were there and that's -what the guy told me."</p> - -<p>"There's only one hope, Dusty."</p> - -<p>Dusty Britton looked at Dr. Ross; with a voice of determination he -said, "Doc, if there's any hope, let me know how?"</p> - -<p>"You've claimed that this galactic gang have some humanitarian -instincts. They aren't just going to set fire to good old Sol and let -us alternately fry and freeze."</p> - -<p>"Stop kidding me."</p> - -<p>"Maybe I'm not kidding. I'm still promulgating on your own cockeyed -plenum."</p> - -<p>"You're not giving me much—"</p> - -<p>Dr. Ross sat back confidently. "No, dammit, I can't say that I give -much credit to your cockeyed story, Dusty."</p> - -<p>"Now see here—"</p> - -<p>"Now <i>you</i> see here," snapped the physicist sternly, "I won't deny that -anything is possible. But I am a firm believer in the law of least -reaction, and I think that this covers the case. If this character -Scyth is at all concerned about our welfare—still granting that -he does exist elsewhere but in your own mind—then get this, Dusty -Britton: he will be back to see how you've made out in your program of -preparing people for the big change before he turns on this barytrine -generator."</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed Dr. Ross sourly. "And what is your explanation of that word?"</p> - -<p>"Easy, and it means no more than anything else when it is what you -call menslated. 'Bary' stems from the root 'heavy' as in 'barytone' -referring to something of heavy voice or highly accented. 'Trine' -refers to something threefold in astronomical or—er—astrological -(haruumpf) meaning. My God, Dusty, the word itself pertains to -something as three-times-as-heavy. You don't expect me—or any -other scientist—to come up with something sensible from a bunch -of half-baked definitions, do you? All you've given me so far is a -workable theory, an unknown medium of radiation, and something that -is three-times-heavy. Tell you what, chum. Bring me your Scyth Radnor -and introduce me. I know guys who would analyze MacBeth's three -witches' brew if they could get a microgram sample. But not from that -gobble-gabble about the 'fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron -boil & bake!' line out of Shakespeare." The physicist went on in an -undertone, "Eye of frog and tongue of newt," until Dusty stood up and -prepared to leave.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">VI</p> - - -<p>Scyth Radnor was pleased with himself. The trip had gone well. He -was back on Earth and the barytrine generator was running in the -warm-up cycle, building its field to the magnitude necessary for -synchronization to the fabric of space stress caused by the planet -Earth. It had not been difficult to maneuver himself into this position -of having to run the barytrine generator and in doing so turn up with a -few days of vacation.</p> - -<p>He surveyed himself in the mirror and nodded. Then he left the big -spacecraft and embarked on an errand that looked very interesting -indeed.</p> - -<p>Eventually, with no adventure worth reporting, Scyth found himself -standing before a door pressing on a button.</p> - -<p>Barbara Crandall cracked the door an inch or so and peered out. "Yes?" -she asked. Barbara was not expecting any visitors, and her natural -reaction was to open the door only a few inches until she determined -the person making the call. But the sight of this man in faultless -whites caused her to open the door a full two feet.</p> - -<p>"Miss Crandall, I—"</p> - -<p>"I don't think I—"</p> - -<p>Scyth chuckled again. "Barbara, may I call you Barbara?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, now see here—"</p> - -<p>"You don't know me?" demanded Scyth with a hurt expression.</p> - -<p>"Should I?"</p> - -<p>Barbara was beginning to doubt this parley as a program of good sense. -As a stage personality, even though far from a universal popularity, -she knew very well that a completely dull heart frequently beat lustily -beneath an expensive exterior and that a clear, open, friendly face -often went with a mind fit only for the company of scorpions.</p> - -<p>He saw her doubt and decided that he had played this guessing game -long enough. "Barbara Crandall, I know you don't recognize me in these -clothes and in this surrounding. Our last meeting was under a rather -strange circumstance. I am Scyth Radnor, the Marandanian."</p> - -<p>"Scyth Radnor!" she exclaimed. "I—yes, it is. I'm sorry, Scyth. I did -not recognize you in human clothing."</p> - -<p>"Please," he parried, "Don't say it that way. I am as human as you are."</p> - -<p>Barbara looked at him defensively. "And you're here to prove it?"</p> - -<p>Scyth blinked. She was rather distractingly direct. "There is no -suitable answer to that," he said. "Must I supply one?"</p> - -<p>Barbara laughed. "Come in, Scyth. Let me offer you the hospitality of a -drink."</p> - -<p>"Pleased," he said, following her into the living room. She waved him -into a chair and turned towards the kitchen.</p> - -<p>When she came back with two highballs, Scyth was relaxed in the -loveseat. Barbara noted it with inward amusement and handed him the -drink without comment. Scyth sipped the drink first and then took a -deep and appreciative drink.</p> - -<p>"You do have something to offer," he said, not showing his -disappointment that Barbara had seated herself in the chair instead of -on the loveseat beside him.</p> - -<p>"That," she said, "makes two items, doesn't it, Scyth?"</p> - -<p>Scyth knew that he had lost the initiative; Barbara was way ahead of -him. He tried another tack:</p> - -<p>"I came to see how you are making out," he said.</p> - -<p>"I'm not doing badly."</p> - -<p>"Is the public aware of the impending event?"</p> - -<p>"Aware, but not believing. Dusty Britton lost his shirt over this."</p> - -<p>"He'll get it back," said Scyth. "I'm not concerned over the result. -It's happened before and it will probably happen again."</p> - -<p>"It's more than possible that Dusty will be vindicated but will then be -blamed for not doing something about it," said Barbara.</p> - -<p>"That cannot be helped. Dusty couldn't do anything about it, you know. -And if Dusty loses out in the long run, we can't permit the well-being -of one lonely man to stand in the way of galactic progress."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Barbara smiled confidently, but with a slightly sour twist to her -pretty lips; it led Scyth to think that there was some derision in her -mind. She confirmed it by saying, "Scyth, since you are going on with -your program no matter what happens, and your concern about warning the -people has worked no matter what happens to Dusty Britton, why do you -bother coming back for a look-see?"</p> - -<p>Scyth squirmed uncomfortably. Despite certain jokes to the contrary, it -is not acceptable to confront a desirable young lady of barely speaking -acquaintance and flatly state the delicate proposition. The difficulty -here was that no matter how he tried, Barbara Crandall was turning the -trend of conversation right back onto the old original trail.</p> - -<p>"You're an actress," he said.</p> - -<p>"So I'm told."</p> - -<p>Scyth smiled. "You're popular? You are in demand here?"</p> - -<p>"I am on my way up," she said.</p> - -<p>"Barbara, you could be a popular actress, you know."</p> - -<p>"Someday I shall be. But this does not come overnight, Scyth. It takes -work, you know."</p> - -<p>"I have an idea that the flavor of the foreign often helps."</p> - -<p>"This is true."</p> - -<p>"Then I have a suggestion. Why not come along with us back to Marandis? -You have youth and beauty and ability and also the exotic flavor. It—"</p> - -<p>"What shall I be?" she returned quietly. "The ignorant but beautiful -barbarian? A clothes horse slightly incapable of holding an intelligent -conversation? This seldom works, Scyth. I've studied history a bit and -I recall the case of a native girl called Pocahontas who was carried -from her native surroundings into the height of the civilization for -the time. She was no actress—she was <i>exhibited</i> like a pet monkey or -a rare zoölogical specimen. She died of what they called heartbreak. -I think heartbreak in this case was a combination of loneliness, of -facing the realization that she could never really belong to the -culture, of the futility of asking to be returned to her people. In -other words Pocahontas lost the will to live. So thank you, Scyth, but -I have no desire to be a chattel, or a curiosity.... Or a museum-piece."</p> - -<p>Scyth nodded seriously. "I see your point. But I don't agree with you. -In the first place you are indulging in a conversation with me. In the -second place, you—"</p> - -<p>"In the first place," said Barbara pointedly, "this conversation is -being carefully kept on my level, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't say that."</p> - -<p>"Of course not. But look, Scyth, aren't you using that menslator of -yours?"</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>"Then the menslator keeps the conversation down to my level because -by its very nature it cannot convey an idea to me that is beyond my -understanding. Am I correct?"</p> - -<p>"In a sense, yes. But—"</p> - -<p>"Scyth, can you menslate a dog, for instance?"</p> - -<p>"A dog has so little mind that—"</p> - -<p>Barbara interrupted this with a wave of her hand. "So how long would it -be before you and your people became damned sick and tired of talking -down? It would be like trying to conduct an adult discussion in baby -talk, wouldn't it?"</p> - -<p>Scyth shook his head. "Not entirely," he said. "It might be that way -at first. But this would not last. I don't know of your history, but -I assume that your Pocahontas was a true savage. You had nothing like -the menslator. Doubtless she never learned any real language and so -lacked the ability to use a language of any kind, let alone learn the -ramifications of the culture behind it. You would be on an entirely -different plane. You have a language and a culture and you are quick to -grasp a new idea. With a menslator you would learn the language well -enough in a short time and while the deeper factors of the culture -would always escape you, the superficial parts would eventually come -easy."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For an answer, Barbara pointed to the wall. "Scyth, on that wall is a -painting given to me by a character who calls himself an artist. Take a -gander."</p> - -<p>Scyth looked. The painting was a mess of squiggles and blots of color. -It was iridescent here and drab there, soft lines elsewhere and sharp -contrasts somewhere else.</p> - -<p>"Interesting," said Scyth. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not sure. I think that this is the painting; but all it needs is -a hole in one corner and it could be the palette that the guy used to -make the painting."</p> - -<p>"This is apropos of what?"</p> - -<p>"Frankly, I think it is a mess. It is something that could be -accomplished by a monkey turned loose in a paint store. But the artist -calls it 'modern' and defends his stand by stating that anybody who -criticises it is wayward, ignorant and unappreciative of the finer -moods and things of life. So put me in your culture and turn me loose. -If I criticise it will be because I am too primitive to understand -these higher bits of culture. If I enjoy something, I am looked down -upon because I can't really feel the true depth of the thing. It—"</p> - -<p>Scyth held up a hand and his empty glass at the same time. Barbara -laughed and went to give him a refill. It also gave him time to think, -and when she came back with his highball he had the answer.</p> - -<p>"Barbara," he said sincerely, "a lot of what you say is true. But look -at it this way. You will be a celebrity. You will, to all intents and -purposes, be among your own kind. That helps. So you can't follow the -deeper arguments nor appreciate the complexities of society as we know -them. But think of what you can see and enjoy which will be forever -denied you if you refuse my offer."</p> - -<p>"For instance?"</p> - -<p>"Imagine the beauty of a planet under a double sun. Imagine if you can -the beauty of a night sky with a ringed moon glowing soft over the -landscape. Coalestis is a planet where most of the minerals and rocks -combine into black stuff. Imagine the beauty of a city of polished -ebony. There are the twinworlds we call Venago One and Two. The Venagos -are separated only by about a hundred thousand miles and in the night -sky you can look up and see the other world glowing over a quarter -of the heaven, and on the dark side are the winking beauties of the -cities glowing like jewels. You will see worlds where the vegetation -grows lush; riotous colors to hundreds of feet tall and there are cold -planets where the ice and snow are always dazzling white. You will wear -sheer shimmering cloth so soft that you have no word to describe it. -You will wear jewels that glow with their own internal light. Money and -luxury will be yours, to travel as you see fit; to spend the rest of -your life flitting from star to star, seeing the varied wonders of the -universe. That is the fate of an actress in our culture, Barbara, for -Lord knows we have few enough of them."</p> - -<p>Barbara looked at Scyth seriously. A number of things occurred to her, -and one of them was simple. If Scyth had returned to earth to see her, -it was obvious that she measured up well against the women of Marandis. -Another factor was the yearning to travel. Barbara would not have -recognized the train of thought if it had been labelled and explained, -but it was there none the less. This was her one chance to see the -greener grass on the other side of the galaxy, the chance to realize a -human dream of countless centuries.</p> - -<p>She smiled wanly.</p> - -<p>"You see what I mean?" asked Scyth.</p> - -<p>"I think I do."</p> - -<p>"Doubts?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. I feel as though I'll be abandoning my own kind."</p> - -<p>Scyth had been leaning forward on the loveseat. Now he came forward to -cross the room. He leaned down, took her hands, and lifted her out of -her chair.</p> - -<p>"You'll come?"</p> - -<p>"You make it very attractive."</p> - -<p>"You can do nothing by staying, Barbara."</p> - -<p>"But—"</p> - -<p>Scyth freed one hand and fished in his jacket pocket. He came up with a -small box, deftly flipping the cover up with his thumbnail.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Coiled inside the box was a chain of tiny-linked metal that glowed -gently with a pale green light. Against the dark cloth of the box -lining was a scrollwork of dark metal, the setting for a stone about -a half inch in diameter. The stone itself was cut in many facets each -of which glowed in a dazzle of a different color. Scyth moved the box -gently and the facets changed color and sent flecks of polychrome -dancing against the ceiling, the walls, the floor. Flecks of light -caressed his face and sparkled into her eyes.</p> - -<p>Barbara took a deep breath, then held it, completely entranced by the -bauble for which she had no words to describe. It was sheer beauty and -she knew that anything that she said would be completely inadequate.</p> - -<p>Scyth freed his other hand and took the pendant by the chain. Holding -it by both ends, he held it up to her throat.</p> - -<p>Barbara stood immobile as Scyth put his hands to the back of her neck -and fastened the clasp. Deliberately he let the tiny links slide down -across her shoulders, let the chill of the cold jewel-stone thrill her -as it slipped down her chest towards the hollow between her breasts.</p> - -<p>Then, gently, Scyth took her by the shoulders and turned her to face -the mirror on the door. She turned under his hands as though she had no -will of her own, to look into the mirror and gasp at the rich beauty of -the gem.</p> - -<p>Scyth drew her back against him and she leaned gently with her -forehead against his chin. He put his hands on her waist and she -covered them with hers, squeezing them as she drew his arms close -around her. She tilted her head back and turned her face to offer her -lips and he found them warm and soft. His hands caressed her. Barbara -turned in his arms to face him and he held her close.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">VII</p> - - -<p>The snick of a key in the lock did not break through their -preoccupation with one another, but the cynical voice of Dusty Britton -came as the shock of a bucket of cold water:</p> - -<p>"Very pleasant scene," he drawled. "I hope I've interrupted something."</p> - -<p>Scyth and Barbara parted in a whirl.</p> - -<p>Scyth felt a sinking sensation in his middle as he realized that the -facts were far too clear; that the sensible course was a hasty retreat, -but the only path was barred by Dusty Britton.</p> - -<p>Barbara took the woman's course. "Don't you ever use the doorbell?" she -asked icily.</p> - -<p>Dusty smiled sourly. "I always have," he said. "Up to now. But this -time I want words with the gentleman in question instead of losing him -out through the back door."</p> - -<p>"I think I should explain," said Scyth uncertainly.</p> - -<p>Dusty chuckled. "What sort of explanation do you think I'll accept?" he -asked the Marandanian.</p> - -<p>"But I—"</p> - -<p>"Stow it, Scyth. You couldn't explain a thing and you know it."</p> - -<p>Barbara snorted angrily. "See here, Dusty, you can't come in here and -start—"</p> - -<p>"I'm not starting anything. I'm just seeking a conference with Scyth."</p> - -<p>"How did you know?" asked the Marandanian uncertainly.</p> - -<p>"By being just smart enough to find a tomcat by knowing where the -tomcat is likely to prowl."</p> - -<p>"Meaning?" demanded Barbara icily.</p> - -<p>Dusty ignored her. To Scyth he said, "I don't know beans about -barytrine fields or generators, but I guessed that you'd set it up on -earth somewhere, start it cooking, and wetnurse it until it came to a -boil. That would leave you on Earth with time to kill. Since time hangs -heavy, you'd probably look up one of the only two people you know. The -more attractive one, Scyth. So I've been haunting the front door like a -private eye."</p> - -<p>Barbara coughed. "You took that right out of The Space Patrol Fights -The Overlords of Delgon."</p> - -<p>"So I've got good writers," grinned Dusty.</p> - -<p>"What do you intend to do?" asked Scyth nervously.</p> - -<p>Dusty faced Scyth. Dusty topped the Marandanian by perhaps an inch or -two and covered him by a good twenty pounds. He guessed that if it came -to roughhouse he would probably win. He poised himself on the balls of -his feet, just in case. He had no way of guessing the speed or power of -the wiry-looking Scyth Radnor and so he was taking no chances.</p> - -<p>"I became a professional bum because of you and your phanobands and -your menslators and your barytrine fields," he said bluntly. "I was -laughed out of everything I had. So now you're going to go with me and -tell 'em all that I was right. We'll have the big domes out to take a -look at your spacecraft, have 'em inspect your barytrine doodad, take a -gander at whatever it is you call phanobands, and so on."</p> - -<p>Scyth understood all too well. He was trapped, faced by a man who could -take him apart bit by bit without much trouble, and if he came out of -it alive, he would end up by being a bigger bum than Dusty Britton had -become. Scyth had fumbled badly by taking time off for fun and games -with Barbara and he knew it. The only thing to do was to clear out of -here no matter what happened afterwards. For once the barytrine field -snapped on, any evidence of Scyth Radnor's attempt at dalliance could -not come to light for a thousand years.</p> - -<p>His hand lifted slowly to the inside pocket of his jacket as he said, -"I'll be glad to help you, Dusty. Naturally, none of us have any notion -of making things tough for anybody. So—"</p> - -<p>Scyth went into whirlwind motion. His hand came out from inside the -coat carrying a fluted-barrelled weapon. As the end of the thing -cleared the lapel of Scyth's jacket he was fingering the trigger and a -pale emanence seared out and cut down and over in a slashing arc.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But at the whirl of action, Dusty's hand arrowed into the space between -the lower two buttons of his dress shirt and came out with a snub-nosed -automatic.</p> - -<p>The pale slash of Scyth's weapon was blotted out by the flash and -racket of a shot.</p> - -<p>Scyth whirled, flinging his weapon against the wall from an -outstretched hand. The thing hit with a crunching sound and Scyth -continued to turn on rubbery legs, sinking and sinking and turning -until he sat heavily on the floor. He sat, stunned, just long enough -to fold his hands over his belly. Then he folded forward over them and -rolled around sidewise as if falling out of his own lap. He half-rolled -and fell a-sprawl on his face. A spread of blood stained the white -carpet.</p> - -<p>Dusty looked down at Scyth. He looked from Scyth to the snub-nosed gun -in his hand and swallowed heavily. The gun dropped to the floor with -a muffled thud from nerveless fingers; Dusty looked at Barbara out of -far-away eyes and said, "He—er—I—"</p> - -<p>Then he slid to the floor in a dead faint.</p> - -<p>Barbara stifled a scream. The whole thing had been lightning-fast, but -she had caught most of it. Scyth had shot first but now he was bleeding -on her carpet. Dusty had shot second and was lying in a dead faint. -Hysteria choked up in her but she drove it back. She wanted to laugh -hysterically. She wanted to let go and slide to the floor and go to -sleep while someone else came in and cleaned up the mess.</p> - -<p>Realizing that she could only hold off the rising hysteria until -someone did make a rational move, Barbara reached for and drained the -highball on the bar. She augmented this slug with a muscle-sized hooker -from the bottle. The liquor burned down and helped to iron out her -jittery nerves.</p> - -<p>She grabbed the ice-pitcher which was filled now with melted cubes and -a slosh of water. Unceremoniously she poured the cold mess over Dusty's -white face.</p> - -<p>Dusty's eyes fluttered and his voice made spluttering noises. "Wha—?" -he fumbled.</p> - -<p>"Come off it!" snapped Barbara.</p> - -<p>Dusty sat up weakly. He looked around for a moment as if he weren't -quite sure of where he was. Then he caught sight of Scyth and it all -came back to him. He scrambled to his feet and took the bottle from -Barbara's hand. He took a healthy slug himself and then said, "He tried -to—tried to—"</p> - -<p>Barbara laughed hysterically. Between gales of half-mad laughter, she -said, "Tried to beat the fastest man—in The Space Patrol—to the draw!"</p> - -<p>Dusty slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. "Shut up!" -he roared. "Shut up and make sense!"</p> - -<p>She came out of the hysteria instantly, shrinking back from Dusty with -a hand against the growing redness on her face. "Dusty—don't—"</p> - -<p>He shook his head hard. "Sorry. You needed it."</p> - -<p>"I know. But he—? Look, Dusty, what do we do now?"</p> - -<p>Dusty looked down at the bleeding man. "Cops," he said thickly. "I've -just shot a—" He could not finish; his face was turning green again.</p> - -<p>"Cops nothing," snapped Barbara.</p> - -<p>"But shooting—"</p> - -<p>"Come off it, Dusty. The cops will only delay and investigate and -generally botch things up until it will be two months and a thousand -years from here."</p> - -<p>"Cops aren't that stupid."</p> - -<p>"Cops aren't stupid at all," she snapped. "They're just smart enough -to insist on knowing all the answers. So tell you what. You go to the -phone and call Lieutenant Yonkers and explain carefully that you've -just shot a Marandanian Marauder in my living room. Tell him you've -collected one of your Great Galactics, only he's defunct. See how far -you'll get!"</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at her blankly.</p> - -<p>"The first stop will be the bull pen," she went on hotly. "The second -stop is the nut-locker. And the third stop is some unknown star a -thousand years from now while the F.B.I. try to match the guy's -fingerprints. Then you call on me for a witness and that gets us the -front page in big black letters saying: 'Former Hero Shoots Rival In -Leading Lady's Boudoir!' Start thinking right, Dusty Britton. Or," she -added scathingly, "call up one of your writers."</p> - -<p>Dusty considered. "I could slope out of here and—"</p> - -<p>"Like hell you will!" she screamed. "You're not leaving me here with a -body to explain."</p> - -<p>"But defending your—"</p> - -<p>Barbara's scorn was high. "Look, Dusty, ever since we were sighted -off-shore in the Buccaneer I haven't had a shred of virtue and -everybody knows it."</p> - -<p>"Trouble is that we can't even run," grumbled Dusty. "This is your -apartment."</p> - -<p>Barbara looked down at Scyth. "Damned nuisance," she said.</p> - -<p>The damned nuisance groaned. The sound was hollow and weak but it -seemed to ring through the room like the cry of a wailing ghost.</p> - -<p>Barbara cried: "He's alive—"</p> - -<p>"—not dead!" blurted Dusty. "Get water and stuff."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Slowly they stretched Scyth out on his back, and Barbara went for her -first aid kit while Dusty slid off Scyth's jacket and ripped the shirt -free. The wound looked frightful, but some sponging with hot water and -alcohol reduced the horror to a weeping hole that tried to breathe -blood in and out. It was low on one side, somewhere near the floating -ribs on the right.</p> - -<p>"Flesh wound?" asked Dusty hopefully.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't know. Maybe." Barbara flipped the pages of a large book -from her library, a book that had not been used much. "It says a -compress."</p> - -<p>Dusty made a pad of bandage and cotton and covered the hole. He taped -it down. Scyth groaned again and Barbara cracked open an inhalant vial -and put the stuff under Scyth's nose.</p> - -<p>"Wh—wha—di' you hi' me wi'?"</p> - -<p>Dusty never knew from where he found the moral strength to be -hard-boiled. But all of a sudden the feeling that this was one hell -of a mess left him; his next feeling was one of confidence and -self-justification. "It's called a belly gun," he said. "But you'll be -all right in a couple of months. Maybe three."</p> - -<p>Scyth tried to struggle up but failed. He fell back and lay there -glaring at them. He gasped, "Cou'le munce?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. Stop crying. It's just a flesh wound."</p> - -<p>"Bu' in cou'le munce—'ll be—bar'rine fiel'—gone—"</p> - -<p>"Take it, Scyth. Sure. It's tough," said Dusty in a cold, -matter-of-fact voice. "You've played and lost, but that's all right. Be -a good loser. You've got a lot of company."</p> - -<p>"Com'any?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. There's millions of guys who've lost their future and their -birthright over the flick of a hemline. We're a primitive sort of -race, old man, but you'll find us both healthy and lusty. Forget -Marandis and your ding-busted beacons. Maybe you can help us build a -spacecraft—after we get through this barytrine business your friends -cooked up for us."</p> - -<p>"Bu' can—mus' not—Chat an' Bren—die—"</p> - -<p>"Nonsense."</p> - -<p>Barbara plucked at Dusty's sleeve. "He's talking about his friends. -Chat and Bren. On Mercury, remember?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't worry about them."</p> - -<p>"But don't you see, Dusty? If we go into the barytrine field, and trap -Scyth and his spacecraft with us, his friends will be marooned on -Mercury."</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded quickly. "Sure and that's what I'm counting on. They'll -not start Sol into a variable until Scyth gets back. So—"</p> - -<p>"Don't be blind. They won't start the variable star, but no one can -stop the barytrine field. They'll still be marooned."</p> - -<p>Dusty grinned. "You don't think a gang this advanced would be so dumb -as to leave a couple of their kind marooned on a place like Mercury, do -you? Well, I'll tell you how I've got it figured, Barb. Exactly eight -seconds after Scyth does not land as per schedule, Chat and Bren will -be calling for help on these phanoband things. That'll take care of -them. But as for this guy, let's cheer up. We've got a sort of hostage. -Scyth will be most happy to make a spacecraft for us as soon as he gets -back on his feet. Chat and Bren will, of course, be taken care of some -thousand years before we—"</p> - -<p>Scyth groaned loudly.</p> - -<p>"Huh?" demanded Dusty.</p> - -<p>"S'no-so. Bren an' Chat—alone. No—no—famban—phan'ban'—phanoban' on -Mer'cry. Die—"</p> - -<p>Barbara started to say, "But your company—" but Dusty turned quickly -and slapped a broad hand over her mouth.</p> - -<p>"Shut up," he whispered in her ear swiftly. "He's got to think there is -no help. He's forgotten that someone knows they're here. Play it by ear -and follow my lead."</p> - -<p>"What can you hope to do?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Dusty. "But I'm hoping that I find out." Loud -enough for Scyth to hear, Dusty asked, helplessly, "But what can we do?"</p> - -<p>"Car—ou'side. Spacer. Pocket—map."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusty made a dive for Scyth's jacket and found a folded road map in -one of the pockets. Like any stranger in a strange land, Scyth had -outlined the route in a heavy blue pencil. His travel was detailed, it -took Dusty no more than a glance to place the location of Scyth's big -spacecraft.</p> - -<p>Scyth rested a moment and then went on: "Hurt—can be doc'or on -Maran'is. Hurry—"</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted. "And who's going to run this spacecraft of yours?"</p> - -<p>"You—easy—"</p> - -<p>Barbara looked at Dusty cynically. "It's your show, Spaceman Officer." -She laughed hysterically again. "Dusty Britton Rides Again!"</p> - -<p>Dusty slapped her across the face to shock her out of it. Then he bent -down to look at Scyth. The compress was soaked with red blood, but it -was not overflowing. Dusty touched it gently and looked up at Scyth's -face. "Hurt?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Can' tell. Hur' all over."</p> - -<p>"Gonna hurt more, Scyth. C'mon, make a break."</p> - -<p>Dusty put his arm under the Marandanian's shoulder and slowly lifted -him to a sitting position. The man groaned and the compress broke out -in a new flood that ran wet for a moment and then subsided in the -stickiness of clot.</p> - -<p>Dusty lifted Scyth as gently as he could, and with Barbara opening -doors, he carried Scyth to his big car.</p> - -<p>"Why not take his?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Like mine better," he said with a shake of his head at the -rental-agency model Scyth had come in.</p> - -<p>Barbara found blankets from the trunk and made a soft cushion for Scyth.</p> - -<p>"You take care of him and I'll drive," said Dusty.</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head. "I—you take care of him and I'll drive."</p> - -<p>"But I know the route."</p> - -<p>"I can read a map as well as you can."</p> - -<p>Scyth opened his eyes wearily, but with a trace of bitter humor he -managed to say, "You take care—of one another—and I'll drive!"</p> - -<p>Then Scyth passed out cold.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Four hours' drive into the foothills, far from the lights of -civilization, Dusty found the big spacecraft. It was parked in a small -valley and it was colored so that only a man who knew what he was -seeking and where it was would have found it.</p> - -<p>On the way Scyth babbled about the drive and how to run the big ship. -Happily, Scyth's periods of delirium were easy to separate from his -periods of lucidity, for when Scyth began to babble he talked cynically -about the stupidity of taking four hours to travel less than a couple -of hundred miles when they could cover light-years in the matter of -minutes. Then he would become quite rational and tell Dusty how to -recognize the beacons as they came into sight, and where the charts -were. He had to get back to Marandis, and he told Dusty the way.</p> - -<p>Then his mind would wander a bit and Scyth would chuckle quietly -over something entirely removed from spacemanship. Then would come a -discussion of the levers that must be turned and the meters that must -be watched; how to turn the correct knob or to push the proper pedal. -He spoke of cautions, too. They must not turn on the space drive until -the ship had warmed for a certain length of time (which the menslator -interpreted to Dusty as a vague quantity of minutes. To be safe, Dusty -would wait twice that long) and then Scyth would lapse again.</p> - -<p>But as the drive went on, Scyth's periods of lucidity waned. His -moments of babbling dropped too; and between them both came longer and -longer periods of dead silence and heavy breathing.</p> - -<p>Yet by the time Dusty drove his car underneath one tailfin, he had a -fair idea of how to run the spacecraft.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">VIII</p> - - -<p>Dusty carried Scyth to the salon and dropped him on a divan. He left -Barbara to take care of the Marandanian while he went aloft into the -control room to take over.</p> - -<p>Once inside the room Dusty stopped short.</p> - -<p>He was a Hottentot in a powerhouse, a savage in a Plutonium refining -plant, a tone-deaf idiot standing before a four-console organ. There -were meters and switches and levers and toggles, neatly mounted on -gleaming black panels and clearly lettered in shining white. He stared -at a pilot lamp labeled :æ:*œÃ¦;œ*œ and wondered foolishly whether the -gleam of red meant that the spaceport was still open or whether it -signaled that smoking was forbidden for the time being.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p>He was a Hottentot in a power house, a savage in a Plutonium refining plant.</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>And Dusty was supposed to drive this.</p> - -<p>Stunned, Dusty dropped into the pilot's chair and looked around him -in a completely dazed manner. Below his feet were pedals and just -below the surface of the slanting panel were a pair of knee-flappers -that could be pressed without losing the thrust on a foot pedal. The -desk-thing was studded with large levers mounted in curve-segments all -carefully marked in the calibrations of the Marandanian language. To -his left was a panel filled with push-buttons from the floor to the -level above his head where his long arm could reach without standing -up. To his right was a similar panel. Dead ahead was a flat plate that -looked like frosted glass and seemed to Dusty about as useful. It -neither glowed, nor showed a spot of color other than the very logical -reticule-lines which were to be used for aiming the ship. Above the -plate of glass was a line of meters and another line of them below.</p> - -<p>Dusty shivered. No matter in which way he reached he could touch -buttons, or thumb levers or turn dials.</p> - -<p>Doubtless the competent Marandanian pilot played this console like a -pianist—strictly from practise. A mere matter of training; when the -concert master calls for 'A' the musician automatically reaches for the -right position and drops his forefinger.</p> - -<p>This was no instrument to play by ear.</p> - -<p>Or—was it?</p> - -<p>"Barb!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Dusty?"</p> - -<p>"Barb, find that damned menslator and bring it up here. It might—"</p> - -<p>A moment later she came up the stairs with the small instrument in -her hands. She gasped as she saw the array of controls and asked, "I -thought he said it was easy?"</p> - -<p>"To him," growled Dusty. He fitted the menslator on his shoulder by -its strap and fiddled with the controls. He hit one setting that made -Barbara cry out inexplicably (which irritated him) and then he found -another setting that made him feel like a hundred and seventy pounds of -toothache (then he forgave Barbara) and after some more fiddling with -the tuning and the gain Dusty hit the right setting.</p> - -<p>Everything became clear to him.</p> - -<p>Directly in front of him was a meter that read "Rhenic Doubler Current" -and to one side was a lever labelled "Phanoband Isolator" and some -push-buttons marked "Polylateral Overload Reset" and "Primary Exchange -Test." The rest, too, were very logical but equally meaningless. "Drive -Pulse Synchronizer" must have some definite function because it was a -large lever almost in the middle of the desk-panel and what one did -with it was undoubtedly taught in the first grade of spaceman's school.</p> - -<p>There was a large and interesting handwheel labelled "Drive Angle Trim" -which Dusty gathered to be the gizmo used to equalize the drivers so -the ship wouldn't yaw in flight, but he was not quite sure. There was -another called the "Pre-flight Check Sequence" which probably checked -the multitudinous functions of the instruments as it was turned from -position to position, but what it did or what it told the pilot made no -never-mind to Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was one that he recognized instantly. It said, reading from left -to right "Off, Warm-up, Stand-by, Operate." It was a big four-position -hand-lever and it was a good idea, excepting what did Dusty do next?</p> - -<p>"Can Scyth help?" pleaded Dusty.</p> - -<p>"He's out cold like a Northern Light. Lost blood and—"</p> - -<p>"But how'm I to run this godawful thing?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Barbara doubtfully. "Try something."</p> - -<p>"What?" he asked.</p> - -<p>She pointed to a small button high on the front panel beside the glazed -plate. It said, "SC/WBN-3 Phanoband 22".</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at the nameplate and the menslator helped him translate -the nameplate into "Space, Commercial/Non-adjustable, High-power, -Emergency—Model Three. Phanoband Twenty-Two."</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at Barbara and shrugged. This was an emergency, so Dusty -put out a forefinger and pressed the button.</p> - -<p>A pilot lamp winked from blue to red and a meter on the forepanel rose. -There was a momentary whirring from far below in the big star ship and -then along the bottom of the ground-glass looking window in front of -him, a small circle began to grow luminous. A man's face appeared.</p> - -<p>He was obviously in some sort of uniform; it had that air. The collar -was high and the effect was uncomfortable. A pair of gold diagrams -glistened on one shoulder. The man looked human enough to be the local -desk-sergeant in costume dress. As soon as the little circle was -completely clear he said tersely:</p> - -<p>"Distress Call received. Identify yourself, state your position, define -your danger, and estimate the time remaining in which you have a factor -of safety."</p> - -<p>Dusty blinked and then looked at Barbara. She shrugged. Dusty shrugged -back and said, "Are you Marandis?"</p> - -<p>"This is Marandis Emergency. Identify yourself, state your pos—"</p> - -<p>"Stop talking like a robot—or are you a robot?"</p> - -<p>"I am not! What is the meaning of this? Using a distress-call band -for—"</p> - -<p>"This is a distress call," snapped Dusty. "And part of the distress is -that I can't identify myself because I don't know the language."</p> - -<p>"You'll have—"</p> - -<p>"The other part of the distress is that the man who knows all about -this is likely to die of a bad accident if he is not given medical -attention. So now you know, tell me what to do next."</p> - -<p>"Who are you?"</p> - -<p>"I am Dusty Britton, if that means anything."</p> - -<p>"I don't know you."</p> - -<p>"Of course not. I've never been to Marandis. I'm not a Marandanian, -just a character of the race your play-mates term 'Backward,' and/or -'Primitive.' But you better do something fast."</p> - -<p>"What is the name of the injured party?"</p> - -<p>"Scyth Radnor."</p> - -<p>"Then your identity is Exploration License K-221-Y. I know Radnor. -I must get you off the distress band. Please switch to Space -Communications, Band Forty-Five. I—"</p> - -<p>"Wait," said Dusty quickly. "As a member of another solar culture you -must be aware of the fact that I am not familiar with your equipment. -Which knob do I twist and how far?"</p> - -<p>The Marandanian gave Dusty instructions and waited for a second small -circle to appear beside the first, with a different face in it. This -face was older and not in uniform. The man said, "Please explain the -nature of your difficulty. I am Gant Nerley."</p> - -<p>As well as he could, under the circumstances, Dusty explained his -predicament.</p> - -<p>"I see," said Gant Nerley thoughtfully. "This is a rather complex -problem to solve. Can you state your location?"</p> - -<p>"Hardly."</p> - -<p>"I suppose not. If we don't know where you are from here, the chance -that a non-galactic culture would know where we are from there is -indeed remote."</p> - -<p>"Haven't you a filed plan of operations?" demanded Dusty, using a tone -of voice that indicated that he thought that any culture above the -level of the ape wouldn't let people go galloping all over the galaxy, -tearing up stars and ruining scenery without first having filed a -program and had such program approved by twenty-seven signatures.</p> - -<p>"There is a filed plan," said Nerley defensively. "But naturally it is -sealed as a matter of protection for the company."</p> - -<p>"And no provision for emergency?"</p> - -<p>"Only by the consent of the licensed company."</p> - -<p>"Then you'd better call a conference at once. Scyth isn't going to last -long enough for you to comb the galaxy for us."</p> - -<p>"That's why it might be better to let the barytrine field run to -completion."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusty's voice grew hard. "I wish you birds would stop tossing off a -thousand years of our life with the flick of a finger," he said.</p> - -<p>"What difference does it make? You'd not notice it, and—"</p> - -<p>"Who says so?" snapped Dusty, his irritation mounting.</p> - -<p>"Time is of importance only when its passage can be measured in -reference to outside events. You have no contact with outside events. -Therefore it makes no difference whether you come in contact with us -now or a thousand years from now, so long as the same people of your -culture are involved."</p> - -<p>"Now see here—"</p> - -<p>"Permit me to present an example. If the barytrine field went on at -this instant, one thousand years from now my successor would pick up -the thread of the conversation from the recording we are making, and -take on from here. As far as you are concerned the only difference -would be a sudden flick of the viewscreen and a rather abrupt change -in the facial characteristics of your conferee." Gant Nerley waited -a moment to let the point sink in. "Now, since you and I have very -little in common, it should make little difference to you whether you -spoke to me or to someone else. And as far as I am concerned, I feel -the same. I have long since ceased feeling regretful that I cannot -retain friendship with the hundreds of thousands of people with whom I -must converse. I have almost stopped being regretful of the fact that -there are so many worlds that no single lifetime would permit a visit -to more than a fraction. I suggest that you try to take a more lasting -attitude. You sound as though the troubles of a world you never saw -were of prime importance to you."</p> - -<p>"Look," said Dusty testily, "A lot of what you claim may be true. But -we have a couple of thousand years of observational data on the planets -and the nearby stars. You may take a thousand years out of our lives in -the twinkle of a second, but then we spend another five hundred on top -of that finding out where we are."</p> - -<p>"You have time."</p> - -<p>"We have not!" roared Dusty. "Move us to a new system and I'll tell you -what'll happen. Before we can make a move into space we have to chart -the new system completely, because we admit that our reaction motors -are not efficient enough to take off without a well precharted course. -We must know the orbits of the planets to a fine degree before we dare. -Then, before we can make a try for the stars, we've got to spend years -and years in observation before we can chart the nearest stars and -observe whether or not they might have planets, our astronomy will be -put back. Now—"</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, but the information I have regarding your system is before -me. Your space travel is primitive and any form of real commerce is as -yet impossible. This I get from the license application for barytrine -operations. Now, how can you justify your statements about interstellar -travel?"</p> - -<p>Dusty Britton, no matter what else, was a good actor any time he -could sit in with a large Virginia Ham to carve. Dusty would never -play Hamlet or Julius Caesar; a custard pie in the face was closer to -Dusty's art than John Barrymore. This fact provided for Dusty a rather -interesting background for the present argument. A student of science -could not have faced Gant Nerley without paying deference to the -Marandanian's obviously superior knowledge, position and experience. -The learned man makes no flat-footed statements; this leads to the odd -belief that most learned men are not entirely sure of themselves. It is -the bird who is ignorant of all the myriad things that he does not know -that can afford to stand up on his hind feet and reel off chapter and -verse as though there could be no rebuttal.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So Dusty Britton, who could portray a reasonably convincing role of a -wounded hero while mentally contemplating how long it would be before -the first preprandial martini, plus being the flamboyant type who never -lets a few facts stop his flow of words, was not abashed to let on that -he knew a lot more than the Marandanian suspected. Furthermore, Dusty -felt that he had Gant Nerley on the defensive, and if he could put the -Marandanian off balance long enough to accomplish something, Dusty did -not care if Nerley accused him of being a four-flusher at some later -date.</p> - -<p>Keeping this in mind, Dusty braced himself with little effort and tried -to reduce to bafflegab what he recalled of Scyth Radnor's previous -statements.</p> - -<p>"Interstellar travel is, of course, based upon obvious errors in the -theoretical mathematics of general relativity," said Dusty, as though -he were reciting some of the science-double-talk usually included in -Dusty Britton And The Space Patrol. "Of the many schools of thought -which have their own theories on how to explain these obvious errors, -the group-velocity field seems to be the most successful. But all -of them are seeking some evidence to support their theories, and a -couple of them, namely the gravitic and the magnetic-field proponents -claim that such evidence has already supported their claim. Now, if -such is the case, you know it will not be long before some practical -experiment will disprove the illogic of providing a finite limit to an -infinite system. Once this has been established it seems obvious that -star-travel is the next step."</p> - -<p>"Hmmm—I see. This is a situation that must be considered more -carefully. May I ask, Dusty Britton, what is your position in your -society?"</p> - -<p>"I am Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol," said Dusty with the proper -tone of respect. "Commander in Chief of the Junior Division."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! A real Space Patrol!"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded at the viewscreen. "It may be a bit ambitious," he -remarked with even more deference, carefully studied. "But we feel -that there is small point in using a conservative name and then having -to change it every couple of years."</p> - -<p>"Quite a sensible attitude."</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded again. "Fact is," he said deprecatingly, "we would -probably be quite a bit more advanced in our space operations if our -sister planets were not so inimical to human life. As it is, our -extra-planetary operations are limited and will be limited until we can -provide the necessary conversions to terrestrial conditions."</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley nodded back. "Man is not an adaptable animal," he observed. -"He does not change himself to suit his environment; he changes his -environment to suit himself."</p> - -<p>"That's what I mean."</p> - -<p>"Then why do you object so much to this barytrine field?" asked Gant -Nerley. "We can always pick you a stellar group less inimical to human -life and thus advance you faster."</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted under his breath. He had talked too much. "Buster," he -said angrily, "logic like that will only get you a fat lip."</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley blinked. "Tell me, Dusty, was Scyth Radnor hurt in some -altercation over this beacon?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By this time Dusty figured that he might as well let Gant Nerley have -it cold and hard. It would show Gant that the mighty Marandanian was no -more distant from the lusty chimpanzee than the terrestrian.</p> - -<p>"No," he said flatly, "Scyth was plugged for monkeying around another -man's woman."</p> - -<p>Gant said, "Deplorable," in a tone of voice that indicated an amused -disgust, but not easily identified as to whether over the act itself or -the business of being caught at it. "What happened?"</p> - -<p>"The other guy shot first," said Dusty, feeling that this was no time -to point out that it was he that pulled the trigger.</p> - -<p>"I'm not surprised. Most primitives are inclined to be both hot-headed -and impulsive."</p> - -<p>"Tell me," asked Dusty in a cooing voice, "did Scyth confine his amours -to primitives, or is it the custom among Marandanians to consider your -mate unattractive unless she can prove it by bedding down with an -impressive list of lovers?"</p> - -<p>"I don't understand," replied Gant Nerley stiffly.</p> - -<p>"Against primitives I can understand Scyth carrying a weapon to his -assignation, for protection against the irate cuckold. Tell me, Gant -Nerley, has your emotional balance become so stable that you can take a -more scholarly view of promiscuity? Or," added Dusty sharply, "do you -have big black headlines about triangle slayings and love-nest scandals -just like the rest of humanity?"</p> - -<p>"Well, now, we—"</p> - -<p>"Then don't blame us primitive souls for slugging a guy that's caught -off base!" snapped Dusty. "Now, what are we going to do about Scyth?"</p> - -<p>"Regardless of his depredations against propriety, he must be given -medical attention."</p> - -<p>"This I will go along with. How shall we start? I can always take him -to one of our hospitals."</p> - -<p>"No. No! You must not."</p> - -<p>"Why not? We're quite competent on gunshot wounds. We're probably more -used to them than you are, as primitives with impulse and hot blood."</p> - -<p>"Please. Let's not be facetious over any man's misfortune."</p> - -<p>"In blunt words, the life of a character caught in an awkward situation -is more important than someone else losing their familiar stellar -scenery and a couple of thousand years of climb up from the swamp of -ignorance?"</p> - -<p>"That is another question which I'm sure we can solve. Now—"</p> - -<p>"Look," said Dusty firmly, "you agree to take measures for our safety -and we'll agree to take measures for Scyth's. Do you understand exactly -what I mean or shall I explain in very blunt words?"</p> - -<p>"That is blackmail."</p> - -<p>"It's worse than that. But we're primitive, and therefore lacking in -refinement. As far as I am concerned, Transgalactic can keep their -secret of our position locked in their sealed file. Scyth can die, and -Bren and Chat can spend the rest of their lives marooned on Mercury."</p> - -<p>"No. That wouldn't be right. You must bring Scyth back home."</p> - -<p>"That's a fine idea! May I suggest that your ship is not as familiar as -mine?" Dusty did not mention that the only control room he was familiar -with was the one on the Gramer Production Lot, which was an aggregation -of fantastic levers and flashing lights and futuristic three-phase -busbars which had a most profound effect upon the imagination of the -youth of the land but no effect upon space whatsoever.</p> - -<p>"This can be taken care of. As a spaceman, you can understand the -principles. They are simple. You can follow directions for flight."</p> - -<p>"Yes? And which way do I go from here?"</p> - -<p>"Not so fast. First, Dusty Britton, tell me the present condition of -Scyth Radnor."</p> - -<p>"Wait."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dusty went below. Scyth was in a state of shock. His temperature "taken -with the flat of Dusty's hand" was chill—and there was a film of -perspiration wetting Scyth's body. The breathing was shallow and the -face was pale. Scyth's pulse was weak and the heartbeat thin.</p> - -<p>Dusty turned a light blanket over the Marandanian and then went back to -report.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley said, "In the salon you will find a medicine cabinet. The -instructions are simple, any intelligent being with a menslator should -be able to follow them concisely. How is the bleeding?"</p> - -<p>"Stopped. Clotted by now."</p> - -<p>"Take care of Scyth, Dusty Britton. We'll figure out something for you."</p> - -<p>"How about this barytrine field that's running away with itself?"</p> - -<p>"We'll stop it. Behind you on the auxiliary panel you will see a knob -and a pilot lamp, probably orange colored. Turn the knob to the left."</p> - -<p>Dusty did, and the lamp went out.</p> - -<p>"That's it. I see that Scyth has the usual sloppy habits of his kind. -No label. According to space regulations the operator is supposed to -slip a label into the frame above the auxiliary control whenever he has -anything extra set up. I'll mark that oversight down on Scyth Radnor's -record. Now—"</p> - -<p>"What about Chat and Bren and that variable-star maker?"</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley grunted. "If they're not keeping a close eye on the -barytrine field detector, so they can shut off their own equipment -when it fails, I'll revoke their licenses! They must be looking at the -temporal field, or at least keeping watch."</p> - -<p>"We hope."</p> - -<p>Gant nodded thoughtfully. "Now," he said, "this being an emergency, -I'll open their course-plan so that I can direct you through space. -Don't turn off the viewpanel, Dusty. I'll be back in a few minutes."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">IX</p> - - -<p>As soon as Gant Nerley's face disappeared from the viewpanel, Dusty -turned to face Barbara. She was standing far to one side, out of range -of the viewpanel, and stifling a giggle. She let it bubble through her -fingers as soon as Dusty caught her eye.</p> - -<p>"Funny as hell," he said. "Me—I'm hysterical."</p> - -<p>Barbara sobered immediately. "Honest, Dusty. I wasn't laughing at you. -I was laughing with you."</p> - -<p>"Why?" he demanded sharply.</p> - -<p>"Because you really fooled that bird. Dusty Britton of The Space -Patrol. Yes, I can navigate a ship."</p> - -<p>"I'm going to. Want out?"</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't miss this for the world. Glad we've got the whole galaxy -for you to make mistakes in."</p> - -<p>"Stop making fun," he snapped. "Let's try and think of something -sensible, Barb. Too bad we haven't time to take a run back to the city."</p> - -<p>"What good would that do?"</p> - -<p>"Well, you could show 'em that bauble you're wearing and I could try -the menslator out on 'em, and maybe between us we could convince 'em -that there's something more in this tale of mine than wind."</p> - -<p>"That's an idea, but it's out."</p> - -<p>"I know. But—"</p> - -<p>"Dusty, you'll have to carry it to Gant Nerley yourself."</p> - -<p>"Carry what?"</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head impatiently. "Think!" she cried. "Dusty, this -license might be rescinded if we can show that Sol has evolved above -the minimum level of acceptability."</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"Then go in there with your head up and let 'em know how we're built."</p> - -<p>Dusty waved at the field of instruments on the control position. "Open -my yap and let 'em know how ignorant we are? We should have a couple of -scientists along."</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "One of the marks of a -real scientist is that he usually considers that he knows a lot less -than he does. You're better off. You don't know enough to confuse -yourself. Besides, Dusty, you're an actor."</p> - -<p>"Um—er—Jeeks! Hang on a mo' will you? I've an idea."</p> - -<p>Dusty loped down the stairs to his car and opened the compartment -behind the front seat. It was his emergency kit; it held his Dusty -Britton uniform, the complete regalia of The Space Patrol complete with -Dusty Britton 'Blaster' concealed against the days when Dusty found -himself trapped in public and could not appear out of character.</p> - -<p>He changed in the car and went back to the control room.</p> - -<p>Barbara took one look at him and nodded slowly. "You're a gaudy sight," -she said. "But maybe that's what it takes."</p> - -<p>Dusty slapped the 'Blaster' at his hip. "I look authentic enough except -for this hunk of hardware," he said. "Hell, it isn't even as useful as -a dress sword."</p> - -<p>"Your revolver? Oh—still on my living room floor."</p> - -<p>Dusty unbelted the holster. "I shouldn't have to go armed everywhere, -should I?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose not."</p> - -<p>"All right, then. How do I look?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Barbara smiled thinly, "Dusty, no one on earth would ever accuse you -of being anything but a Hollywood actor in that get-up. But a man from -halfway across the Galaxy itself might not know about these things. You -might be an Admiral of the Swiss Navy. You're impressive-looking. Just -don't get pompous."</p> - -<p>"Just you remember that I'm Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol and don't -giggle when I start dishing it out."</p> - -<p>"I won't. After all, I call myself an actress, you know." She looked -nervously at the viewpanel.</p> - -<p>"Are you all right?" he demanded.</p> - -<p>"Yes. I'm nervous but I'll be all right."</p> - -<p>Dusty went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Take a deep -breath," he commanded. She did. "Now let it out slowly." She did that, -too. "Now," he said softly, slipping an arm around her and leading -her to the stairway, "You come down below and relax. Pull yourself -together, Barb. We'll make it—somehow."</p> - -<p>"Got any ideas?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet. But—"</p> - -<p>Above, the voice of Gant Nerley came back. Dusty raced aloft and -apologized for having been absent. Gant was nodding with admiration at -something below the level of the view panel, probably something on the -desk.</p> - -<p>Gant looked up after a moment and said, "Dusty Britton, this is really -a remarkable route. Truly fantastic. So well hidden, and yet right -within our grasp all of these centuries! Well, you shall see, Dusty. -And doubtless you will agree."</p> - -<p>"Okay," said Dusty, "let's get going."</p> - -<p>"Not so fast, young man. I'm waiting for the direction-finding stations -to report so that I can determine where along this prospected route you -lie."</p> - -<p>"We're about two-thirds of the way out from the center, I believe," -offered Dusty.</p> - -<p>"That's a rather inaccurate generality. You know where you are and -we know where we are, but we must know where we are with respect -to one another before we can make contact. Now—" Gant's voice -stopped suddenly as something caught his eye above the lens of the -viewpanel, and he looked over Dusty's head, apparently, so intently -that Dusty himself turned to see what Gant was staring at. He saw -only instruments, and realized that Gant was looking at another -panel-section above the one that communicated with Dusty's panel.</p> - -<p>"Um," said Gant. "You would appear to lie in what we call 'Sector -G-18, Co-ordinate 307, Galactic Angle 215.86-plus degrees, South -altitude-angle 1.017-minus degrees, Co-frame 9654.' Now, Dusty, in your -terms, where lies the Galactic Center?"</p> - -<p>Dusty laughed. The tone of his laugh was half bitter and half a note of -self-disparagement. "Sorry, Gant. We frame our reference from Terra, -naturally."</p> - -<p>Dusty breathed a sigh of relief at having boned up on enough science to -play his part convincingly.</p> - -<p>"I do not quite understand what you mean," returned Gant.</p> - -<p>"We compute stellar positions in latitude from the angle above or below -the equator of Terra, which we call 'Declination' and in longitude by -their rise as the planet rotates, which we call 'Right Ascension'. -Therefore the so-called 'Celestial equator' is a projection of the -Earth's equator upon the sky, and the colures pass from celestial pole -to celestial pole, which are projections of Terra's axis. Now, since -the Earth's equator is tilted with respect to the Earth's orbit, and -the Earth's orbit is tilted with respect to the Galactic Equator, I'll -be darned if I know how to explain in mutual terms. Oh, we assume that -the galactic center is in a region of the sky we call 'Sagittarius' but -that is meaningless."</p> - -<p>"I agree. Wait a moment."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Gant turned from the window in Dusty's viewpanel and walked away from -it by several yards. He worked over a complicated keyboard for some -minutes and then returned.</p> - -<p>"Dusty," he said, "I think we can handle this as follows. To your left -hand near the top of the control board you will find a key-lever marked -Phanobeacon. Pull it towards you."</p> - -<p>Dusty looked, found the key, and pulled. A bright spot of light -appeared on the view panel, high in the left hand corner. "That is the -true position of Marandis," said Gant Nerley. "If you tried to make it -at transgalactic speeds you'd plough into about forty stars and hit -about nineteen gas-clouds. You'd either blow up, or spend the rest of -your life running at safe velocities. However, if you take off and -steer your spacecraft so as to put that beacon spot on the calibration -lines G-705, F-318, you should find the next rift-beacon somewhere near -to the crosshairs of the viewpanel. Got it?"</p> - -<p>"I think so."</p> - -<p>"Good. Now, for take-off instructions. Ready?"</p> - -<p>"Ready."</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley began a running patter of instructions. Those favored few -who have ever seen the control room of a spacecraft can possibly grasp -the implications of the problem. One does not step into the pilot's -chair of a complex device such as a galactic cruiser, push a pedal -and then steer any more than a Wall Street Accountant could step into -the cockpit of a six-engine airliner and take off, just like that. -There was the pre-flight checkoff, probably performed by the competent -Marandanian Pilot in a matter of minutes, and quite possibly done with -an automatic reflex action which would permit the accomplished pilot -to daydream about the girl on the next planet meanwhile; only the -appearance of the wrong pilot-lamp response would bring him out of his -automatic response with an abrupt recognition of something awry.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But Dusty was not a pilot, and certainly not a pilot of a Marandanian -Spacecraft. So the pre-flight checkoff took almost an hour. Nearly -ninety-nine percent of the time Dusty was following Gant Nerley's -instructions blindly: Is the pilot lamp registering power source -showing red or green? Is the spacelock indicator showing closed? Turn -the atmosphere control to Internal. Set the autogravity corrector to -Controlled. Co-stator circuits to Regulated; antimagnetic response dial -to zero; space-coordinate servo control to Stellar Display. Planetary -Drive to Automatic Threshold; match the Gravitic Constant to the Power -Delivery. Set the Master Control to Pre-flight Warm-up.</p> - -<p>"Now," said Gant Nerley, "take it slow and easy. Take the 'Tee' bar -gently. Find the thumb-buttons and press them both evenly; spread -your knees against the paddles under the control panel slowly and -press the Force pedal with your right foot. Tell me, what is your -trans-atmospheric velocity?"</p> - -<p>"It says 416."</p> - -<p>"Too high. Press the Compensator pedal with your left foot until the -TAV meter reads 312."</p> - -<p>"Now."</p> - -<p>"Hold it that way until the Matter Per Cubic Meter indicator drops -below the red line."</p> - -<p>"The TAV meter is dropping below 312."</p> - -<p>"Good. Let up on the Compensator pedal and depress the Force pedal -more. Keep the TAV meter at 312."</p> - -<p>"The Matter Per Cubic Meter indicator is below the red line, Gant."</p> - -<p>"Free the Compensator pedal. Push the Force pedal all the way home and -kick it to the right. Now read the Trans-atmospheric velocity meter."</p> - -<p>"Dropping rapidly."</p> - -<p>"Good. And the MCPM?"</p> - -<p>"Dropping rapidly."</p> - -<p>"Excellent. Spread the knee-paddles wide and lock them. Have you a -reading yet on the Space Velocity Meter?"</p> - -<p>"Just getting off the peg."</p> - -<p>"Um—it is a little early. But that's all right. It will arrive in due -time. Keep an eye on the Foreign Body Indicator, Dusty. Any reading?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Good. Don't touch the 'Tee' bar, Dusty. That's the steering mechanism -and it is in neutral. Is there any indication on the viewpanel yet?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet."</p> - -<p>"Haven't enough velocity yet," said Gant. "But when it appears, it -will look like a star map. Now, the central cross-hair is the point of -aim of your spacecraft. If the star you want lies, say, to the upper -left, move the 'Tee' bar forward and to your left. That will swing the -ship in that direction and you can line up the drive with the target. -Also, since angular position is important when moving in three free -dimensions, twisting the crossbar of the 'Tee' will cause the ship to -rotate on its axis. The map will turn in the direction, apparently, but -it is really the ship turning. That is—"</p> - -<p>"I'm beginning to get a presentation now," said Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Good. Dim and reddish, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Fine. Now get this straight and clear: The phanobeacon is the control -beacon for direction of angular curve. In other words, it takes three -points to define the orientation of a plane in space. These three -points are you, the star-beacon or course-marker which you will find -directly, and the main terminal-beacon which is the phanobeacon. You -must drive your ship in the proper plane when making a curve or making -any turn. Follow?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Dusty, trying to think it out. He was far from certain -about all this, wondering why it was all necessary. He went over the -instructions in his mind, made no more sense out of it than the first -time, and then decided to accept it without trying to figure out the -reasons. After all, Gant Nerley and his folks ought to know what they -were doing.</p> - -<p>"Now," said Gant, after a moment, "In order to orient yourself, you -must line up the Phanobeacon on the point of aim. Take the 'Tee' bar -firmly, one hand on either side of the axle. Find the thumb-buttons on -the handle. Press them all the way in and lock them home with a slight -sidewise pressure towards the center. Got that? Now, lift the 'Tee' -bar straight up until it is high enough to manipulate with ease. Be -careful, don't move it sidewise!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The last admonition was wasted. Dusty lifted the 'Tee' bar gingerly and -not too evenly. The stars on the viewpanel danced dizzily, swiveled, -and flowed across the plate. The bright phanobeacon spot moved from -the plate along the bottom, danced back in view on a brief curve, and -left again along a flat slant. The 'Tee' bar clicked into place and the -stars stopped dancing with a snap. Dusty moved the 'Tee' bar gently and -the stars flowed upward until the phanobeacon re-appeared.</p> - -<p>"Got it," he said shakily. He moved the 'Tee' bar very gently until the -phanobeacon was centered on the screen. Or, rather, almost centered. It -moved in jerky little circles like the sights of a rifle in the hands -of a tyro.</p> - -<p>"Fine. You're doing well with strange equipment. Now, on the panel -you will find a switch marked 'Co-ordinates.' It will be set on -'Rectangular' and you must flip it to 'Polar'."</p> - -<p>The switch changed the cross-hair pattern of the viewpanel from the -horizontal and vertical calibrations to a circular pattern with only -the main center hairlines remaining. Angle-lines radiated out from the -center, crossing the circles.</p> - -<p>"Now, Dusty, inspect the radius-line marked G-705. All the way around. -Do you see a winking star?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Um. I was hoping we could do it the easy way. The sealed course-plan -is not too clear, for which I don't blame Transgalactic. All right. -We'll have to do it the hard way. Move the phanobeacon down until it is -almost on the lower edge of the viewpanel. Now flip the 'Co-ordinates' -switch to the left, leaving it in the bottom position marked 'Polar.' -You'll find that the toggle has an 'H' type pattern of motion, laid -flat-wise."</p> - -<p>The polar co-ordinates disappeared completely from the center of the -viewpanel and centered around the phanobeacon spot. They made larger -and larger arcs as the circles approached the top of the panel.</p> - -<p>"Now this is going to be tricky. You must twist the 'Tee' bar slowly -and let the ship rotate, but you must also move it so that the -phanobeacon stays near its present off-center position. But before you -do this, let me explain what you are actually doing in space. Picture a -needle-shaped spacecraft with a line along the axis running out before -the ship, marking the line of drive, or direction. At some distance -from the line lies a spot which denotes the phanobeacon. Somewhere out -beyond, there is another spot that must be sighted within the confines -of an angle not greater than the angle made between the point of aim, -or line of drive, and the imaginary line running from the nose of the -ship to the phanobeacon. So you must cause the ship to rotate on a -false axis, making the line of flight describe a cone of revolution -with the phanobeacon on the axis of the cone. Now, go ahead and try."</p> - -<p>"Okay." Dusty moved the 'Tee' bar and the stars moved in jaggledy -little scallops along a greater arc. The center of the beacon held the -polar lines, but they moved with the stars and with the beacon. It made -Dusty dizzy and his eyes began to ache. "What am I looking for?" he -asked plaintively.</p> - -<p>"Look along the outer circles for a winking st—"</p> - -<p>"Got it!"</p> - -<p>"Good. Turn the 'Tee' bar to neutral," said Gant. "Return the -'Co-ordinate' switch back to the center of the 'H' pattern. Center the -stellar course beacon on the point of aim."</p> - -<p>The winking star flashed at Dusty like a flag. It danced crazily as -he manipulated the 'Tee' bar with all of the thumb-handedness of the -rookie pilot on his first attempt at the controls. There was so much to -do, so many things to handle, so many motions to make. Dusty gripped -the 'Tee' bar tightly, too tightly. When he let go with one hand to -flip a switch or to make an adjustment, the grip of his other hand -moved the bar. It became sweaty and sticky, then it became slippery -and he gripped it even tighter, which made it worse because his fine -control left him as he strove to hold the handles tighter and tighter.</p> - -<p>In a jagged line like the trail of a rising smoke, the winking star -proceeded to the center of the viewpanel. There it hung, wabbling -around in tiny circles and occasionally making a brief jerky dart -to one side or the other. Dusty mopped his face and the beacon star -jumped; he grabbed the handle again and the star leaped across the -center and wabbled on the other side of zero-zero.</p> - -<p>"Got it," he said in a quavering voice.</p> - -<p>"Now rotate the ship until the phanobeacon is on the vertical hairline. -Then flip the switch to 'Rectangular' again."</p> - -<p>The stars scalloped around in the viewpanel until the phanobeacon -was on the vertical line. The field leaped a bit as Dusty found the -'Co-ordinates' switch and returned the calibration-presentation to the -horizontal and vertical hairlines.</p> - -<p>"Now?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"You have a bit of time. Be certain that the star-marker lies firm and -true. Be careful!"</p> - -<p>Dusty gripped the handles and tried to steady his shaking hands. Then, -because he had no more complexity of motions to make, he relaxed a bit. -The dancing star-field slowed its mad vibration, which calmed Dusty's -jumping nerves still more.</p> - -<p>He leaned back in the pilot's chair slowly, his grip on the 'Tee' bar -lightening and becoming more true. He looked at the beacon star and -knew what Chat, Bren, and Scyth were working toward.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It lay there on the center of his panel like a winking flashlight. Lost -in the star-field, which showed a myriad of points, some dim cloudy -stuff, and a band of milky white, the beacon would have been nothing -without that steady wink ... wink ... wink. He, himself, was lost. He -had not the foggiest notion of where he was, excepting that Mother -Terra must be far behind. Sol, a smallish, yellowish, completely average -dwarf would show nothing to call attention to itself from the distance -of a few light-years. Yes, somewhere back behind him lay Sol and his -planets. But the winking beacon on Dusty's viewpanel was like a banner -waved from a distant shore.</p> - -<p>No man is alone so long as a lighthouse flashes its message of safety, -or warns against danger.</p> - -<p>Dusty took a deep breath. "Barb!" he called.</p> - -<p>She came up the ladder. "Call me?"</p> - -<p>"How's Scyth?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"He's doing all right. How're you doing?"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded boyishly. "Look, Maw I'm flyin'," he told her with a -chuckle. "Martin Gramer should see me now. This is simple like a duck's -ear, and I—"</p> - -<p>Barbara screamed and Dusty whipped his head back to look along the -direction of her horrified eyes. To the viewpanel.</p> - -<p>One of the stars, lost in the glitter of the distant background had -detached itself from the immobile sky. It was moving, forward, and its -glow was brightening. It came hurtling towards them like a white hot -cannonball. One second it was no more than any other star, distant, -aloof, and cold. Then it had exploded into a disc that expanded like a -released puff of gas. It came toward them like a ball of fire hurled -into their faces.</p> - -<p>Dusty yelped and twisted on the 'Tee' bar and the stars rolled dizzily -across the plate—but not until the white hot monster had flipped past -in a quick wave of heat and a final flare of light which made a small -section in the back of Dusty's mind recall the effect of having a -foil-filled flashbulb fired during a still photography session.</p> - -<p>Shaking, Dusty's grip on the 'Tee' bar tightened and he moved the lever -in tight little jerks until the stars returned to the proper positions -and the Phanobeacon was properly centered.</p> - -<p>Gant's face showed concern. "What happened, Dusty?"</p> - -<p>Dusty told the Marandanian, and Gant smiled knowingly. "Don't worry -about it. It will happen again and again, and maybe worse. But so long -as you keep the course beacon centered properly, you will pass by—and -not through—those interfering stars. Now, as soon as your beacon star -shows a disc, steer up to keep the beacon centered on Line H-001. Once -you pass the beacon, look for another beacon on Line F-312 and bring -the point-of-drive to center on the new one. Follow?"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded at Gant's image on the screen along the bottom of the -viewpanel. Another star detached itself from the backdrop of stars -and hurled itself into Dusty's teeth. The actor flinched but held his -drive. The star passed in a bright flash and a quick wave of heat and -was gone. Dusty licked dry lips and forced the grip of his hands to -relax. Far to one side another star passed in a majestic sweep, too -distant to bring them either heat or more light than the ones called -'fixed' on the viewpanel.</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed the star-beacon suspiciously. Was it showing a disc yet? -And how much time did he have to shift the drive once the disc became -certain? Dusty felt a cold wave wriggle down his spine and he knew that -cold beads of sweat were beginning to ooze out of his face; he was -remembering the staggering speed with which the first star had come -leaping at him.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Another star passed him in its characteristic wave of light and heat, -and Dusty realized that what looked dangerously close on the viewpanel -was in reality quite distant. It meant that so long as his ship was -pointed into a clear space, there would be no danger of running into a -star no matter how precarious it looked.</p> - -<p>But the cold sweat came because the beacon star lay winking at him dead -in the intersection of the crosshairs that marked the drive.</p> - -<p>Disc? Did it show a disc? Does Sirius show more of a disc than Polaris?</p> - -<p>Dusty's hands pulled the 'Tee' bar slightly to move the winking eye -ever so subtly upward. That way he would not be aiming his spacecraft -dead into the searing hot maw of a variable star. He took a shaky -breath and relaxed.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley shook his head. "I see what you are doing, Dusty, and you -must not. You'll make a wide curve and get off the beam. Or worse, -you'll hit a star lying close to the course. You have no idea of how -wide you'll run. Center it up, Dusty, and keep a close watch, for it -will become a disc. You'll have time. Relax."</p> - -<p>Reluctantly Dusty returned the 'Tee' bar to the central position, and -the star winked through the crosshairs at him, itself no larger in -diameter than the width of one line. It was not obscured by the lines -because of the construction of the panel, a design that Dusty could not -quite understand. Dark lines should have hidden the stars behind them, -but on this gadget they did not. He looked closer and found that the -stars themselves lay on top of the lines rather than under them, and -he wondered how they managed that stunt. It was, of course, a matter -of design. Dusty's experience had been with small telescopes, but this -device was not an optical device, so the simple laws of optics did -not obtain. As he watched, the winking star became a winking disc and -Dusty's nerves twitched.</p> - -<p>When had the change started? Dusty realized that he had been -half-hypnotized by the wink ... wink ... wink that meant both safety -and ultimate danger. The disc was expanding rapidly, and as Dusty -tried to move the disc to Line H-001, the edge of the winking beacon -expanded faster than the point of aim moved. He wrenched the 'Tee' bar -hard and saw the crosshairs move sluggishly below the exploding circle. -Then the beacon flashed past in a wave of heat far greater than any of -the other stars, and he was blinded by the light for a second or more. -But as the blindness died, there on Line F-312 there was a distant -wink ... wink ... wink.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">X</p> - - -<p>Dusty gripped the 'Tee' bar and started to turn the ship toward the -new beacon. His approach to dead center was ragged—he overshot and -over-corrected, but finally he made it. And then with a burst of good -sense, Dusty released the 'Tee' bar very gently and leaned back in his -pilot's chair. The crosshairs stayed on their winking beacon.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley nodded. "Turn the presentation to 'Polar' again, and keep a -sharp eye out for a slow beacon along Radius Q-103. You probably made a -wide curve around that other beacon and you may be a bit too close to a -gas field. You'd burn up in milliseconds if you hit it at your present -speed. By the way, what color is the presentation now?"</p> - -<p>"It's getting lighter. Sort of yellowish-white, like."</p> - -<p>"Good. But if and when it begins to blue-up a bit you'd better let -up on the 'Force' pedal by a notch or more. Competent pilots can run -with their screen in the violet, but you're far from being a competent -pilot." He saw the look on Dusty's face and added hastily, "I mean that -you've had no experience in galactic travel, Dusty Britton. You're -doing magnificently so far. We'd best take no dangerous chances, -though, until you have driven interstellar craft as many hours as -you've driven your own interplanetary ships."</p> - -<p>Barbara made a choked sound and then covered it by saying, "I see the -slow beacon, Dusty. Out there on Circle D-212, along Radius Q-103."</p> - -<p>It was pulsing slowly, rising to full brilliancy over a period of -more than a minute and falling again, never really winking out to -invisibility. It lay alone in the star-field; the gas cloud behind it -must be of the same nature as any of the so-called 'dark nebulae' or -dust clouds that obscure the stars behind it. But it was far to one -side (Circle D-212) and it seemed reasonable to view it calmly.</p> - -<p>"How much time have I?" he asked Gant Nerley.</p> - -<p>"About fifteen minutes."</p> - -<p>"Good. I want a cigarette and a drink."</p> - -<p>It was with increased confidence that Dusty swooped around the next -beacon and headed on towards the next—and the next—and then around a -long curveway limned by four of the winking beacons and once more along -a long field-free course towards a winker that lay dead ahead for quite -some distance.</p> - -<p>There was one quick jog between two beacons set at an angle like the -flags of a slalom run on skis; a wide 'S' curve around the outside -of the first, up and over, between, then out and around the second -beacon in a long ogee to locate the freeway to the next beacon star. -There was a quick turn that took the plane-locating phanobeacon off -the screen for several minutes and then another one that put the -phanobeacon almost on the crosshairs, and then another slight turn -that put the phanobeacon on the lower corner of the viewpanel again. -It was, according to Gant Nerley, a "most remarkable rift!" At which -Dusty shrugged because he had never seen any other rift. It looked -plenty complicated to Dusty, and he shuddered to think of what a really -tortuous galactic passage would be like.</p> - -<p>They passed by a vast luminous cloud that lay on the spacecraft's beam -for minutes. It looked like a matter of mere miles that separated -them from it. It was marked by two of the slow-winking beacons, as -if that were necessary. The luminous cloud reminded them of a lake, -seen from an automobile driving along a highway. They could not see the -inner star that provided the energy for the luminosity of the cloud, -and eventually they left the luminous cloud behind them. They zipped -between the elements of a star cluster that drove at them with multiple -waves of heat, and on and on they went with Dusty Britton driving his -Marandanian spacecraft like a child running a motorboat, following -instructions shouted by a careful, protecting parent.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This did not make of Dusty Britton a space pilot any more than turning -the valve on a radiator makes one a heating engineer, or replacing a -light socket makes one an electrician. But Dusty began to glory in it; -his confidence grew high as his skill increased.</p> - -<p>His touch upon the 'Tee' bar became light and sure of itself. He -no longer waggled widely or jerked the bar when a deviation became -noticed, Dusty corrected his course with deft touches like the driver -of an automobile. He was learning, and filled with a self-confidence -he had no right to feel, but did not know enough to be scared about. -Dusty Britton, who had never been in a space rocket in his life, drove -a galactic spacecraft across the galaxy under what can be called "Dual -Flight Training."</p> - -<p>Which was all right, so long as the trainee has enough space to make -mistakes in. Dusty literally had galactic reaches and these were -well marked against the pitfalls. And if Gant Nerley's face radiated -confidence and his voice sounded cheerful it was due to Gant Nerley's -knowledge that constant admonition, warning, and cries of horror would -only cause more trouble than Dusty Britton's meandering course.</p> - -<p>But flight is easy, whereas landing is the most difficult maneuver in -the universe.</p> - -<p>So by the time Dusty Britton was homing on the main phanobeacon of -Marandis itself, Gant Nerley had his plans. Dusty Britton was not going -to barrel that spacecraft down tailfins first like a screaming elevator -that might come to Velocity Zero at a plus or minus a half mile from -Ground Zero and maybe a plus or minus thirty seconds of Drive Turnoff; -to drop like a plummet or ram the spaceport with a planet-shaking crash -or burn a crater in the 'port with full drive still warping the space -below the ship's tailfin.</p> - -<p>Dusty Britton came to a full zero-zero-zero landing a million miles -above Marandis. He came to a grinding halt high above the planet, -looked around dazedly, and asked Gant: "What makes?"</p> - -<p>"Keep your drive at one gravity thrust," said Gant. "Stand by for -Pilot!"</p> - -<p>The last order was delivered in a ringing voice as though it were a -standard procedure.</p> - -<p>To Dusty, familiar with the tactics used by seagoing liners upon -entering port, standing by for a pilot was quite a sensible practise. -If the Captain of <i>The North America</i> permitted a pilot to bend the -big liner along Ambrose Channel, through The Narrows and into New York -Harbor, Dusty Britton saw no objection to having a pilot come aboard to -bend the big spacecraft down past whatever dangers might be presented -by moons, meteors and cosmic junk.</p> - -<p>And Gant Nerley, not knowing how Dusty felt about spacecraft piloting, -hoped that this procedure sounded like Standard Operating Practise.</p> - -<p>Dusty replied in ringing tone, "Standing By for Pilot!"</p> - -<p>Gant took a deep breath.</p> - -<p>Minutes later a small scooter hauled alongside and a Marandanian pilot -came aboard and took over. He smiled at Dusty and said, "I'm Nort -Wilgas, Pilot."</p> - -<p>"Glad to have you aboard," smiled Dusty. It all sounded very familiar; -The Space Patrol had borrowed liberally from the clichés of naval -procedure and courtesy and he had been through these lines at least -once in every picture. "I'm Dusty Britton." Then he remembered the role -he was trying to play and added, "Of The Terran Space Patrol."</p> - -<p>"Have a good passage?" asked Nort Wilgas.</p> - -<p>"Yes. A bit tiring. After all, I've never driven a galactic spacecraft -before. Frankly, I'm about flat on my face."</p> - -<p>The Marandanian pilot looked into Dusty's face with a perplexed frown. -"You know," he said, "It's just occurred to me—you drove this thing -all the way on duty!"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Twenty-three hours!"</p> - -<p>Dusty suddenly felt tired. He had been too busy with the board to think -of it before. He had been running on nervous energy, but now it had -about run out. Dusty had been this way before; so long as there was -something that had to be done he had done it, but once the need was -over, he invariably came unglued and slept the clock around.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "I had to."</p> - -<p>"Man! What stamina!"</p> - -<p>Dusty yawned and came unglued on the divan opposite the one that Scyth -Radnor occupied. Nort Wilgas nodded at him and then turned to Barbara. -"You can relax too. I'll take over."</p> - -<p>Dusty Britton was fast asleep when the spacecraft made its landing on -Marandis.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XI</p> - - -<p>Dusty awoke to find the sunshine streaming in through a small porthole -and lighting the cabin cheerfully. The smell of fresh air was in his -lungs, a pungent, pleasant smell faintly of cinnamon or nutmeg but -not quite either. He recalled that he had folded out on the divan in -the salon, now he was in one of the cabins below the salon level. He -wondered how he had arrived.</p> - -<p>He stretched his muscles, the cool sheets felt pleasant against his -back. Then he wondered who had undressed him and how anybody had been -gentle enough to do the job without waking him. He looked around the -cabin expectantly and as he looked, his door opened and a woman came in.</p> - -<p>She was wearing white from cap to slippers and Dusty pegged her for a -nurse at once. She was wholesome enough, but neither her face nor her -figure would have stopped any traffic on Fifth Avenue. She carried a -book with a finger slipped between pages to mark her place and in -her other hand she held the Marandanian equivalent of a cigarette. A -pleasant curl of smoke rose from the lighted end.</p> - -<p>"Hello," she offered brightly. "And how do we feel this morning?"</p> - -<p>"We feel fine," grunted Dusty. "And we'll feel better after a shower, a -shave, and some of that smoke you're using. I'd also enjoy a change of -clothing."</p> - -<p>"We took the liberty of having your uniform cleaned. The shower and -shaving gear is in the bath—there—and as for the cigarette, I can -offer you one right now."</p> - -<p>"Give," said Dusty with a grin. She handed him a case and snapped a -lighter for him. He puffed and found that the stuff, while far from -tobacco, was tasty enough. He took a deep puff and let the smoke filter -out through his nose.</p> - -<p>The nurse said, "I hope you don't resent sleeping in the—ah—"</p> - -<p>"The raw? I do it all the time." Dusty took another puff and swung -his feet overboard onto the deck. It was not deliberate, Dusty was -just uninhibited and the question of wandering across a cabin dressed in -nothing did not even occur to him. The nurse said, "I'll be waiting for -you in the salon." She left, not precipitately, but with a certain air -that removed all embarrassment.</p> - -<p>Dusty showered and shaved and dressed in his cleaned uniform. When he -got to the salon, Barbara was there already, also freshened and cleaned.</p> - -<p>"So this," she said, "is Marandis."</p> - -<p>The nurse nodded cheerfully. "This is Marandis. You'll have to tell me -how your Terra is; I've never been anywhere near that far from home, -you know."</p> - -<p>"Sure," nodded Dusty. "But now that we're on Marandis, what do we do -next?"</p> - -<p>"Oh. I'm to escort you to a formal meeting of the Bureau where you'll -meet Gant Nerley face to face."</p> - -<p>"How's Scyth Radnor?"</p> - -<p>"Why, he's doing very well. He's hospitalized and he'll be out and -howling for the skin of the man that shot him in about a week."</p> - -<p>"He'd better take a month off for practise, first," grinned Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Or," chuckled the nurse, "leave other men's women alone."</p> - -<p>"Yes," agreed Barbara.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The nurse nodded. "You're very attractive," she said with no trace of -jealousy or envy. "I can see Scyth getting side-tracked along your -direction. I am a little disappointed in Scyth—seems to me he could do -better than a frauland for you."</p> - -<p>"Better than a what?"</p> - -<p>"Frauland. That bauble he gave you. You wouldn't know, of course, -but it comes from Selira, a stellar colony not far from here. It's -incredibly cheap."</p> - -<p>Barbara tore the chain getting the bauble away from her. "Next time," -she promised sharply, "I'll plug Scyth Radnor myself!"</p> - -<p>The nurse shuddered a bit. Dusty merely laughed and said, "So now we -know where we stand. And now knowing, I'm hungry."</p> - -<p>"Of course. We'll all dine at the meeting."</p> - -<p>"Oh?"</p> - -<p>"Naturally. You're here, aren't you? Marandis is not going to send you -back without a chance for you to present your case. There is a joint -meeting of the Bureaus of Galactic Navigation and New Colonial Affairs. -It will start with a formal breakfast during which no business will -be conducted. Then, once you are all acquainted with one another, the -business of the day will be discussed and a decision rendered."</p> - -<p>She led them to the spacelock and Dusty Britton had his first glimpse -of a Marandanian spaceport. There was precious little to see, which -made it even more stunning to the senses.</p> - -<p>The size of the place was completely obscured by spacecraft which stood -like the trunks in a pine forest. Most of the craft were larger than -Dusty's and so obscured his vision. Between those nearby (which were -rather wide-set) there were others at a little distance, and beyond -them there were still others, and behind those others were more -and more and more until all that could be seen were the tips of the -upthrust noses. The horizon was an irregular pattern of pointed shapes -that was somewhat reminiscent of the Greek egg and dart moulding of -ancient architecture.</p> - -<p>Through some of the more distant lines of sight, the far spacecraft had -a haze around it, as though it were miles and miles away.</p> - -<p>There was not a building to be seen, only spacecraft.</p> - -<p>Dusty gave up trying to penetrate the forest to the edge of the 'port -and directed his attention to his nearby surroundings.</p> - -<p>A road wound around in a zigzag manner, meeting and dividing around -each ship. There was an empty landing block not far from them, and -after a bit of puzzled interest—the shape of the block caught -Dusty's memory—he decided that the landing block was hexagonal. So -were all the rest of the landing blocks. Hexagonal pattern, like the -well-known hexagon tile floor; the road was the marker-lines between -the hex-shaped landing blocks. Those that were empty showed the effect -of heavy masses parked on them; a bit of char now and then; a chip or a -crack, probably made by a rough landing; a deep seam repaired with some -sort of cement or concrete (or whatever the Marandanians had devised -or discovered as a superior material) and at least one place where -the edge of the block had been chipped deeply as though the pilot had -missed his landing point and come down on the edge of the hexagonal -block.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As they looked, a muted whir attracted their attention and they turned -to see a ship lowering itself out of the sky to come down in a slowing -vertical drop that ended at the edge of a curtain of nearby spacecraft. -The landing ship inserted itself in the pattern behind ships until only -its nose was visible. Then to one side—and apparently with no warning, -a ship nosed upward, gaining speed rapidly until it disappeared in the -bright blue sky above.</p> - -<p>The nurse said, "We land a ship every thirty seconds. There's a -take-off every thirty seconds, too."</p> - -<p>"That is a lot of activity," said Dusty, swallowing the daily figure -with some amazement—7,200 ships landing—a like number taking -off—every hour, night and day. The traffic added up to a rather -monumental figure. No wonder they required a huge spaceport.</p> - -<p>"Marandis is the center of Galactic culture," said the nurse proudly. -"And this is only the spaceport that handles affairs of the Space -Administration Department. Each of the many Departments of Galactic -Government has its own spaceport. The one at the Department of Space -Commerce is the largest because that is the one that takes care of -incoming transports carrying the necessities of living."</p> - -<p>"Don't you do anything for yourself?"</p> - -<p>"We have no room. Marandis is an urban planet. The only parts that -are not built-up are preserves, parks and recreation-forestry. There -is nothing on the entire planet that does not serve directly toward -Galactic Administration, in one manner or another."</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded. He could grasp this even though the magnitude was great. -By simple proportion, if it took one complete city to administer the -government for a country, it should take one planet to administer the -government of a galaxy. He wondered even then how they managed to get -it all in.</p> - -<p>He smiled and made a wave at the landing ramp. He had seen everything -he could see from the little platform outside of the spacelock.</p> - -<p>At the bottom, in the zigzag road, was a lone, low-slung vehicle with -a man in a simple uniform leaning indolently against the wheel. He was -smoking a cigarette which he tossed onto the landing block as they -came down. He fired up the thing under the nose of the car after they -were inside, and as soon as the door slammed, he let the clutch out -with a rap and the car jack-rabbited into motion. They took off from a -standing start like a frightened deer at about five degrees lift so -that by the time Dusty and Barbara had pulled their heads forward from -the jerked-back angle, the car was about thirty feet in the air and -arrowing forward above the road. The speed climbed rapidly until Dusty -estimated something near to a hundred miles per hour.</p> - -<p>The driver was, of course, cutting the tips of the corners between the -hexagonal blocks in a die-true line of flight and naturally paying no -attention to the zigzag road below them. Since the spacecraft were all -standing in the center of their particular blocks, like a bunch of -chessmen parked on a tile floor, there was plenty of space between the -ships themselves for such passage. Even at their thirty-foot altitude, -which raised them to a point on most ships where the bowed-out flanks -were quite wide, there was room to spare.</p> - -<p>And now that they were in one of the aisles, distant buildings could be -seen dead ahead. It must have been ten miles from their landing block -to the edge of the spaceport.</p> - -<p>The driver barreled along this aisle with the self-assurance of any -taxi-driver, hooting his horn now and then as they came to what seemed -to be a major intersection of the zigzag road below. Dusty wondered -worriedly what happened when two of these characters met in a draw, -because the man seemed to pay no attention to any other noise but his -own, which he made with great confidence, in the other guy.</p> - -<p>Dusty was beginning to wonder about the need for any road below when -his question was answered by a caravan of heavy trucks making their way -along the road. They zipped over the caravan and were gone by the time -Dusty realized that air-travel was not for heavy cargo.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The buildings at the end of the aisle between the spacecraft loomed -larger. The driver whipped along at his thirty-foot altitude, making no -attempt to climb over the buildings which were growing taller and more -massive at a frightening rate. Dusty's palms went wet; the buildings -had seemed minute when they turned into the aisle, but now they were -tall and massive and millions and millions of windows could be seen, -with magnificent arches between the buildings spanning the gaps.</p> - -<p>The aircab whipped across an empty perimeter about the -hexagonal-pattern of landing blocks, sped above a low building, and -howled into the tiny space between two buildings with an arch above -and a roof below, and then went into a flat climb. The car rose slowly -in the canyon between the buildings that lined the street below. There -were people working in those buildings, men and women that sat at -their desks behind windows and paid no attention to the passage of a -hundred-mile-per-hour skycab within forty feet of them.</p> - -<p>Then the car was above the roof-level but it kept to the street-lanes. -Below them were the streets, and in the valley was slow-moving traffic, -ground cars and air-cars that ran at different levels to avoid -intersection-collisions. Up in the higher strata were the fast-moving -aircabs, each moving in its lane, and each lane for a different -direction. Even with separate lanes the traffic was a turmoil; constant -jockeying to gain position, to avoid trouble, to move a level higher -or a level lower so that a corner could be turned without entering the -intersection at the wrong level.</p> - -<p>To make a right turn the driver jockeyed himself to the top of the -altitude allowed that line of traffic, and in the block before his turn -he rose above his lane, made his turn, and then entered the right-bound -traffic pattern from below, mingling with the speeding aircabs. To make -a left turn, the driver dropped to the floor of his lane, fell below, -made his turn, and mingled with the left-bound turmoil from above their -upper limit of altitude.</p> - -<p>They raced along in the middle-altitude at high speed; cars above them, -below them, to the left and right, before and behind.</p> - -<p>"My God!" breathed Dusty, "New York at rush hour—in three dimensions."</p> - -<p>Their driver turned and winked at them. He flicked a lighter with -one hand and lit the smoke that was hanging from one corner of his -mouth. "Yeah man," he drawled. "Some of them guys should ought to take -lessons."</p> - -<p>Then he turned back to his job with a shrug, lost a hundred feet of -altitude in three hundred feet of run, and whizzed around a corner and -fitted his aircab into a space between traffic that was just large -enough to let him in without scratching paint. The other cars moved up, -aside, down or sped or slowed to give him elbow room. He fought them -for position, dropping on a descending run through this cross traffic -until he whipped out of traffic on a spiral over the roof-top of one of -the buildings.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here the driver phlegmatically put the aircab into a tight corkscrew -that dropped them onto the roof. Dusty got out slowly, testing the -stiffness of his knees after the ride. He helped Barbara out next and -the nurse came out on the other side at the same time.</p> - -<p>Then they were almost roofed as the aircab took off on a flat, -screaming '<i>U</i>' turn that lofted him no more than ten feet, whipped -across the street between levels and swooped him down on the opposite -side, where he hit the other roof without a bounce and came to a fast -braking stop beside a man who had flagged him.</p> - -<p>The man got in and the aircab whiffled off the roof in a crazy climbing -turn and burrowed into the fast traffic lane above. It forced its way -into the mass of traffic and was lost in a matter of seconds.</p> - -<p>"Holy Rockets!"</p> - -<p>Barbara wiped her damp forehead with the back of a shaking hand. -"Oh—for a film of this!"</p> - -<p>Dusty grinned weakly. "Shucks, Barb. What's a fender for if you don't -fend with it?"</p> - -<p>Quietly their nurse turned from the spectacle and led them to a roof -kiosk and down some steps into an elevator....</p> - -<p>The operator cut the ropes and let them drop slightly slower than the -free-fall constant of the planet Marandis, leaving their stomachs -somewhere up on the hundred and ninety-first floor. He braked the -elevator somewhere down below-below-below, and their innards caught up -with them in such a sudden rush it buckled their knees.</p> - -<p>Along a magnificent corridor and through massive carved doors opened -for them by men in uniform, and then they were ushered into a vast -ornamented room with a vaulted ceiling, tapestried walls, and a -polished floor. Deep armchairs were waiting around a huge table that -glistened with polished metal and blinding white cloth, the severity -broken by color of dish and fruit and fluid. Soft stringed music filled -the air that was also lightly scented.</p> - -<p>As they entered, the music bridged from the stringed fugue to a -magnificent orchestration and the scent changed subtly from languid -sweetness to a pungent aroma that compelled the senses to pleasant -attention. The soft-key lighting swirled across the vaulted ceiling and -changed into a colored brilliance that made the blood leap high.</p> - -<p>The music slid into a soft passage and a vibrant voice announced:</p> - -<p>"Dusty Britton, Commander in Chief of The Junior Division of The Terran -Space Patrol. Barbara Crandall, Thespian and Vocal Musician of Terra. -In attendance, Lela Brandis, Mistress of Extra-Marandanian Medicine."</p> - -<p>The music crashed, the scent came heavy and sharp, and the lights -flashed like the licking of summer lightning and came to rest outlining -them brilliantly.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley crossed the huge room and held out his hand to Dusty -Britton.</p> - -<p>"We need no introduction, Dusty Britton," he said in a ringing tone. "I -say 'Greeting' to you with all my heart!"</p> - -<p>Another stab of music, a touch of cinnamon-scent, and a play of lights.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley turned. "Stop the dramatics," he commanded. "What are we, -children to be impressed by theatrical tricks?"</p> - -<p>The music shifted back to the string ensemble, the scent smoothed out -to something pleasant and pungent, and the lights faded back to their -neutral medium-key. Dusty thought that if this lights-and-music stuff -was strictly off the cuff, ad-lib, someone was a past master at the art -of extemporaneous composition. He liked it. And if it took Marandanian -children to appreciate it, you could give him ten years in school and -call him the Marandanian child.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley was holding out an elbow to Barbara. She took it and -the Marandanian led her towards the head of the table. Dusty looked -around; then he offered his own elbow to the nurse—Mistress of -Extra-Marandanian Medicine, Lela Brandis.</p> - -<p>It was many years before Dusty identified the things he had for -breakfast. It was exotic and well-prepared; none of it was remotely -familiar but all of it was good.</p> - -<p>Then over the after-dinner drinks and smokes, Gant Nerley rose, rapped -the table with his knuckles, and proposed the problem for the day.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"What are we going to do about Sol?" asked Gant Nerley seriously. Dusty -eyed the Marandanian soberly. "Leave it alone, I hope."</p> - -<p>"You realize what you are asking?"</p> - -<p>"My God! Do we have to go through all that mishmash again?"</p> - -<p>"Again?"</p> - -<p>Dusty slammed the table with his fist hard enough to make the glassware -jump. "Again and again. I'm getting sick and tired of explaining all -the many reasons why none of us want to move to another star and lose -a thousand years. And then being told that after all it won't hurt a -bit, and besides this move is necessary—and if we don't move willingly -we'll be moved anyway forcibly."</p> - -<p>"Why are you so angry?"</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at Gant Nerley and sat down wearily. "Because," he said -patiently, "all of us know that no matter what, you're going to go on -and do it anyway—but not until you've forced yourself to believe that -you have convinced us that we should accept this kick in the pants -gracefully."</p> - -<p>"It isn't that simple."</p> - -<p>"No?"</p> - -<p>"No, it isn't. You see, we are bound by our own laws to hold to certain -programs under certain conditions. It is the conditions which prevail -that we are attempting to define, outline, determine, and pin down so -that we know what lawful action may be taken."</p> - -<p>"You sound like a bureaucrat explaining away an awkward situation. Just -what do you mean by conditions and programs?"</p> - -<p>Gant picked them off on his fingers. "There are the following," he -said. "First would be a race—remember I am talking about all the -races of mankind strewn across the galaxy; the races that are us, you -and we and all the rest that stem from a single source, the origin of -which is lost in the antiquity of a hundred thousand years. So, first -would be a race which was still in the growing-up stage, say the mound -building, early agricultural, perhaps later, in early metal. An age of -no true scientific grasp; what little of science they know has come -by guesswork, blundering discovery and hit-or-miss experiment. Such -a race could be moved across space without a qualm, because it would -only bring about a rather deep period of superstitious horror and a -religious fear. A few hundred years later the tale would be completely -discounted, because the astronomers would be rising and stating flatly -that no agency in the universe could change the constant stars. The -old sky would be wiped out of men's memory in a couple of generations, -although it might remain in myth and fairy tale for a long time. Such a -set of conditions would permit the moving program without a qualm."</p> - -<p>Gant looked at Dusty. "Understand?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," replied Dusty indifferently. "Go on."</p> - -<p>"Then on the other end of the scale we have the advanced race. They -have discovered the phanobands, know about space flight and perhaps -have colonized the planets of other stars say within ten to fifty -light-years. A race of this stage of development would understand and -grasp the problem quickly. Then having been shown the problem, they -would make the move willingly and no doubt help, because they would -understand that their destiny is a part of the Galactic Destiny."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yeah? You mean to say that if Marandis were found to lie across -the road like a stone wall you would all happily toss Marandis into a -barytrine field for a thousand years?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Gant smiled serenely at his objection. "Well, doubt it as you will, but -we would. Of course, we know that no such case would ever come up. But -if it did—"</p> - -<p>"Y'know what you remind me of," snapped Dusty. "You remind me of a -parent explaining to his kid that this castor oil is good for the -kid, and that if the parent needed it he would take it with a happy -smile—excepting of course that the parent does not need anything of -that nature. We have an old adage: he dies well who never faced a -sword! I think it applies here. Well, go on, Gant. Tell me where Terra -lies in your scale of values."</p> - -<p>"That's what we are trying to determine. You are obviously not of the -pre-aware stage. You have your limited space travel and your historical -records which will preclude any attempt at forcing the affair upon you -and causing you to put the change as superstition that would be wiped -out."</p> - -<p>"Thanks."</p> - -<p>"On the other hand you are not of the advanced stage which could accept -a change in your night sky without trouble, nor will you accept it -willingly."</p> - -<p>"How true. Now this brings us to the impasse, doesn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>From across the table a man waved for attention. "It's more than that. -The moment Dusty Britton opened the distress phanoband, the secret of -the galactic rift was let out. Like everybody else, we put direction -finding equipment on the signal and have it located rather well. Then -we went back through our files and found that as far as we can tell, -Sol was mentioned as a possible beacon by one of our early exploratory -parties. One that disappeared. One that—"</p> - -<p>"So what?" barked a man down the table from Dusty. "Seems to me that -Intercluster sits on its duff and waits for us to find rifts for them."</p> - -<p>"Transgalactic isn't the only outfit with a spacecraft," snarled the -man from Intercluster angrily. "We've done our share."</p> - -<p>"Not on my books," said the Transgalactic representative.</p> - -<p>Intercluster eyed Transgalactic sourly. "What's the matter?" asked -Intercluster softly, "Are you mad because Intercluster happens to have -records on the rift you re-discovered?"</p> - -<p>"Re-discovered my—"</p> - -<p>Intercluster turned to Gant. "I leave it up to you," he said. "Our -records show that we, too, have rights to this rift."</p> - -<p>Transgalactic hammered on the table. "Like hell!" he roared. "If you -have rights, why aren't you using them?"</p> - -<p>"Because you and your gang concealed them from us until Scyth Radnor -got into trouble. A fine bunch of incompetents you are! A fine group to -be representatives of our culture. You can't even keep your hands off -native females—"</p> - -<p>Barbara rose with a single lithe motion and hurled the contents of her -glass in the Intercluster man's face. He staggered back, floundered -back into his chair, landed hard and tilted it back on hind legs to go -over backward in a crash.</p> - -<p>"Native female?" spat Barbara.</p> - -<p>The room went breathlessly silent; the music stopped on a flubbed note; -the scent soured in a brief wave as though the man at the valves had -miscued. The lights flickered awkwardly.</p> - -<p>Barbara stood there tense and ready. Her breasts were pushed against -the nylosheer of her dress; her stomach was flat and hard. She was -poised like a healthy wild animal daring any onlooker to try to tame -her.</p> - -<p>Dusty rose lazily and pushed her back into her chair with a hand on her -shoulder. No other man in the room would have dared to lay a hand on -her except Dusty. This he somehow realized, and it gave him personal -gratification to know that he had once more done that which the -Marandanians would not have dared.</p> - -<p>Then he went over and picked up the Intercluster man with one hand, -standing the man on his feet like a puppet.</p> - -<p>"We apologize for reacting to your unfortunate choice of words," he -said smoothly. "We admit to being a bit primitive and impulsive. I came -unarmed," and he pointed to the band across his hips where the Dusty -Britton Blaster belt had protected the whipcord from the sun, "because -we are advanced enough to realize that we are impulsive and perhaps a -trifle inclined to act before considering the matter fully."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He turned away from the man and sauntered over to Gant Nerley. "I -apologize again," he said. "But I do suggest that our nerves are a bit -short. After all it is hard to sit here and listen to your friends and -fellow-citizens discuss the ways and means of making use of that rift -through the galaxy without once recognizing that we poor devils have to -move out whether we like it or not."</p> - -<p>Gant smiled nervously. "I am trying to appreciate your position," he -said. "And in a way I do. But you must try to appreciate ours. We are -not taking anything away from you that you will miss. After all, Dusty, -what do you stand to lose, really?"</p> - -<p>Dusty swallowed. It dawned on him what he was doing and why. And also -how he had managed to get away with it so far.</p> - -<p>And in these fractions of a second, Dusty probably matured more than he -had grown during the great part of his life.</p> - -<p>He realized suddenly that he was only Dusty Britton of The Space -Patrol and as phony as The Space Patrol itself. To date he had done -as good a job of wool-pulling as the best statesmen or scientists, -but only because he was an actor. He had succeeded in convincing the -whole bunch of them that the cultural level of Sol was higher than it -was. A scientist would have admitted his lack because that was the -way scientists operate. A businessman would have been baffled, and -a statesman would have tried to cover his indecision in a gout of -flowery language that would be known for what it was by this bunch of -high-brain characters.</p> - -<p>But Dusty was an actor, blunt and not too smart. Modesty is not part -of an actor, while the ability to submerge himself is. He had become -Dusty Britton of The Space Patrol and the hero of a hundred adventures -in space among a people who were hard and fast because they were still -in struggle against their environment. He was tall and strong and young -and handsome, and he was Dusty Britton, fast on the draw, hard on the -trail, and the bes' dam' cabba-yero in all Mehi-co and he had them all -convinced that he and his friends spent their time racing around in -dangerous, imperfect spacecraft powered by reaction motors.</p> - -<p>He was Dusty Britton who had plugged Scyth Radnor for playing games -with his woman. Then Dusty Britton had taken the controls of a -completely foreign spacecraft and had driven the ship halfway across -the galaxy through danger and God-knew-what (Dusty did not) horrors and -possible fates. The fact that Gant Nerley and a corps of engineers and -a bank of computing machines had supervised Dusty's every motion and -move did not detract from the feat in their eyes. It added, because -of the sheer guts of a man who would enter an alien ship and have the -self-confidence to touch the tiniest push-button.</p> - -<p>He sauntered over to Gant Nerley and said, "Well?"</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley was impressed with Dusty's swagger and self-confidence. -So were the rest of the men in the room, with the exception of the -representatives of the two shipping companies, and they had chips on -their shoulders. So Gant Nerley looked around from face to face and -then said, in an official tone:</p> - -<p>"It would appear that Terra is of a level of development that mitigates -against immediate action. Therefore we shall declare a recess, during -which time we shall study the Terran people. If Terra measures up, -other steps must be taken."</p> - -<p>There was a chorus of "Aye!" and the sound of chairs being pushed back -and the noise of feet on the floor. The babble of voices arose as the -members broke into little groups and began discussing the problem.</p> - -<p>But Dusty did not hear them. The self-confidence had oozed out of him -and he slumped in his chair, staring at some shine on a bit of the -table silver, trying to think of something other than the horrible -certainty. For while Dusty Britton had bluffed the Marandanians, he -knew without a shadow of a doubt that his bluff was being called -and it would not stand up. All it would take was the Marandanian -Investigating Committee scouring Terra to find one single man who had -one shred of reason to believe that matter could exceed the velocity -of light. Oh, there were such people. But the man who professed such -opinions believed it because he wanted to believe it; because he hoped -someday that it might be accomplished. He was the man who shrugged -off experiments that followed the rules and acted according to the -equations. He was the man who had faith but no proof.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Beyond a doubt, the report of any such committee would recommend that -Terra be bundled into its barytrine field with no delay, and that Sol -be nudged into the three-day variable needed for the beacon on this -particular dogleg of the journey across the galaxy.</p> - -<p>Dusty had succeeded in his own way, but now he knew that it was not -enough. He, himself, had convinced them that Terra was worthy of -notice. The rest of Terra would let him down. Still lost in his own -unhappy thoughts, he became vaguely aware that the babble of discussion -was stopping and that one man was raising his voice to get an audience.</p> - -<p>It was the Transgalactic representative. He was standing by his place -at the table, talking in the tone of voice used by a professional -lecturer hammering home an unpleasant fact:</p> - -<p>"—obvious by the animal ferocity of this Terran, his threats and his -willingness to plunge into physical combat, that he and his kind cannot -be of high culture. I am asked whether or not we may judge an entire -race of people by one man, and I agree that we cannot. But then view -the reaction of his companion who flares up in a fit of red, raw anger, -taking offense at being properly catalogued. I ask you, gentlemen, is -there any excuse for this? Am I not a native male of Marandis? Is she -not a native female of Terra?</p> - -<p>"And so by their actions, both violent in nature and unpredictable in -direction, they have shown themselves to be uncouth. Who knows what -offense they will take next? Does a man among us dare to speak freely -with either man or woman of Terra alone and unprotected? No, because -no one can ever know beforehand what peculiarity of their own limited -semantics will be rubbed the wrong way, setting them into a violent -fury. Dusty Britton has boasted that he can take any of us out and wipe -up the street with us. This cannot be denied. But what does it prove? -Only that his shoulders are broad and his back strong and his fists -hard. And that he has been trained in violence.</p> - -<p>"Now, gentlemen, consider this next argument: What has Terra to lose? -No more than a familiar night sky, really. The time under the barytrine -field will pass without their notice. As for the time lost in respect -to the rest of the galaxy, since they have had no contact with it, they -cannot be affected by the loss. They prate about losing a thousand -years of advancement. Consider how soon they would be taking to space -if we had not found them. Might it not be yet a thousand years before -contact with the galaxy took place? Yet as it stands now, this man and -this woman will live to see galactic commerce, whereas they would be -dead and gone without ever knowing of the galaxy if Marandis had not -found them. And having been granted that, they still show the ignorant -rebellion of children.</p> - -<p>"They have not the foresight to understand that so far as they are -concerned, less than a week of their apparent time will pass before the -ships and men of Marandis will land on Terra in its new surroundings, -to treat with them, to lead them, to educate them, to bring to -Terra all of the glories and benefits of galactic civilization—no, -gentlemen, <i>to return to Terra its galactic heritage, lost so long ago. -Its birthright returned!</i></p> - -<p>"And yet what response do we get? Objection and rebellion and threats -of violence. So I ask you, are we to be frightened by this small -primitive world that lies like a barrier across our path? Are we to be -cowed by a show of force? Are we? And if we are, shall we run in fear -from a race of men who bear missile-propelling weapons?</p> - -<p>"Look at Dusty Britton and his companion. They sit there angry, -possibly planning their own form of revenge to take place if we have -the temerity to proceed. Then let me ask you, supposing they do object? -Suppose they do resent our meddling in their small lives? Are we to -be frightened of bomb and gun—we who can put them back into their -barytrine field and keep them there until they are willing to agree? -<i>And without the loss of a life?</i> Gentlemen, this whole meeting reminds -me far too much of parents who try to argue logically with children -over bedtime instead of packing the infant off. Who knows what is best? -Child or parent?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The man from Transgalactic paused a moment to let this point sink -in. Then he said, "Gant Nerley, I object to your proposal. We need -no more investigation. We know what these Terrans are and how they -react. They offer little to Marandis at present. They are no more than -a responsibility to us and as such they owe us our superior rights. -Therefore, unless I am ordered at this moment to cease and desist, I am -going to proceed. Do I hear such an order?"</p> - -<p>A babble of voices rose.</p> - -<p>"Gentlemen," said Transgalactic, suavely, "I offer you a short and -quick route to the Spiral Cluster."</p> - -<p>He stood there for fully a minute listening to the clamor of individual -discussions going on in the smaller groups around the table. Then he -hit the table with his fist, bowed sardonically to Dusty and Barbara, -and strode out.</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at Gant. "Can't we do something about this? Can that guy -go do as he pleases?"</p> - -<p>Gant shrugged. "We are a government that guides but does not rule, -suggests but does not demand, recommends but goes not force. I can and -will put a stop to his activity providing that you show direct evidence -that Terra and Sol are of importance in their present location, that -Terra has something to offer Marandis, that you are not what he claims. -However, if what he said is true, then what he is about to do is -acceptable."</p> - -<p>"But we—" and Dusty stopped short. He had no argument strong enough to -convince this Marandanian that Terra would lose anything but its own -jealous prestige.</p> - -<p>Dusty stood up slowly. "Come on, Barbara, let's go home. At least we -can be among friends. I'd hate to be marooned here while Terra was -smothered in the barytrine field."</p> - -<p>Barbara stood up and leaned against his side. "Yes, Dusty," she said in -a throaty contralto.</p> - -<p>Gant smiled wanly. "I'll see that you get home," he said. "Forgive us, -Dusty. You'll really lose little and gain much. I—"</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at Gant. Then he looked down at Barbara. Then up at Gant -again.</p> - -<p>"So I've failed," he said in a low voice. "I've tried and failed. And -I am aware of the fact that Terra will not lose much. That isn't the -point. It's just that I, Dusty Britton, am a personal failure. I should -like to be able to say that I don't give a damn what other people -think, but I can't. I care a lot what other people think, because for -the next forty or fifty years or more I've got a living to make, and -making a living is a lot easier if the entire world is not convinced -that I am a no-goodnik. But then, who am I to stand in the way of -galactic progress."</p> - -<p>"Dusty, I regret that the rest of your people will not be able to see -the thing I am going to show you. Maybe you can describe it when you -return. Come with me."</p> - -<p>Gant led them from the hall, then to a moving walk that hurled them out -and across one of the flamboyant arches between buildings. Here Gant -stopped to display his credentials to a man in uniform, and to sign a -register that also listed Dusty and Barbara and their home planet Terra.</p> - -<p>They went along a corridor that curved gently; through a heavy metal -door that opened on response to a signal sequence delivered against a -button.</p> - -<p>The room inside was vast, truly vast. It was a vertical cylinder and -it must have been more than a thousand feet in diameter and three or -four hundred feet tall. They stood inside of the door on a narrow metal -catwalk that ran completely around the circle, its far side lost in the -distance and the dimness, for the room was not lighted from above, but -from below.</p> - -<p>It was a pleasant glow, a flat, hazy, wispy glow from a gas-like cloud -that floated in the room a hundred feet below the catwalk ... a scale -model of the galaxy.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It looked like any photographs of one of the galaxies taken through a -telescope except that this model was dotted here and there with winking -pinpoints and stringed through and through with thin lines that glowed -in many colors, some solid colors and some in two-color spirals, -like coded wire cable. Here and there were faintly glowing spherical -volumes containing many stars, or rectangular volumes confined by -planes of faint color-glow. Certain of these clusters were linked with -other clusters by the zigzag lines that wound and interwove around and -through in a tangled skein.</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley picked up a small cylinder from a rack on the railing of -the catwalk. A narrow pencil of light pointed out, and he aimed it -towards the center, some five hundred feet out to the middle of the -hall. "Marandis," he said. Then he brought the pointer-light across -towards them slowly, to stop a hundred feet from their position. -"Sol," he said. "The lines are courses surveyed and registered by -the various companies, you can gather that the colored stars are our -inhabited systems and the volumes register certain clusters. That faint -greenish-yellow course that ends out there by Sol is the Transgalactic -course set up to reach from Marandis to the Spiral Cluster which lies -almost at our feet."</p> - -<p>The magnificence of the spectacle was enhanced by the silence in the -room. The galaxy, it seemed, lay at their feet and with no irreverence, -and only awe, the viewer felt as though he were standing by the side of -God, looking down at his Work.</p> - -<p>In a hushed voice, Dusty asked, "Is this where they survey the courses? -Couldn't figure out a way around Sol?"</p> - -<p>Gant laughed sympathetically, breaking the hushed awe. "Look at it and -think, Dusty Britton."</p> - -<p>Dusty looked, and Barbara looked, both in awed silence as Gant Nerley -went on:</p> - -<p>"In that model, which looks like a wisp of gas, there are fifteen -billion individual pinpoints. Think, Dusty. One-five, comma, -zero-zero-zero, comma, zero-zero-zero, comma, zero-zero-zero stars -in one galaxy. Across the breadth of this room it lies, scaled down -to represent the hundred thousand light-years of its diameter at the -rate of a hundred light-years to the foot. Eight and one third light -years per inch, Dusty Britton, so your Sol and your Sirius lie about -an inch apart. Now, Dusty, in order to make the stars visible, they -must be above a certain intrinsic size, and in the size of the stars -the scale of the model is violated. Each tiny glowing point is about -one-sixteenth of an inch in diameter. That makes the scalar size of the -stars about a half light year in diameter. The diameter of the colored -lines that represent courses is of the same magnitude, so as we go into -the model—as we may—we will find that the courses touch, intersect, -and lie tangent to stars that are actually far from the flight in real -space.</p> - -<p>"What I am saying, of course, is only a new concept of something that -you already know, but pertaining to another subject with which you have -every right to be more familiar. Take a globe of your Terra. It is -excellent for locating areas, finding cities, lakes, oceans, mountain -ranges; anything gross enough to find physical size upon the map. But -you cannot use it for a road map to direct you to the home of a friend, -because the details of such a trip are much too fine. So we use it for -large-scale mapping, but could not possibly use it for the delicate -business of course mapping."</p> - -<p>"But if you enlarged a section?"</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley nodded. "It has been tried. No good. You see, Dusty, this -was made by going deep into space and making stereograms from all -angles. The transparencies are used in projectors all around the hall. -But as you may know, the finest photogram loses definition when it is -enlarged too much. As for delicate operations, Dusty, just to prove our -point we are going to enter the model."</p> - -<p>Gant led them to a control panel in the railing and from a sheet of -paper in his hand he set the dials.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The vast circular runway lowered all around the hall and the -galaxy-model rose, giving the appearance of turning upward past them. -"We are coming down toward and below the plane of our galaxy at the -scalar rate of about a hundred thousand light-years per minute," said -Gant. Then a segment of the catwalk detached from the wall and went -forward on a long girder.</p> - -<p>The bright pinpoints leaped out at them, giving Dusty the same feeling -as he had had in the space flight, except that the model lacked the -waves of heat as the little pinpoints passed. He looked at Barbara -and watched the tiny points plunge into her skin to disappear, then -reappear behind her, as if they passed through her body harmlessly. -He looked at his hand as the points streamed through, and he waggled -his fingers around a cluster and watched them twinkle. They penetrated -clusters and dark-cloud areas, placed where fifty stars occupied a -volume of less than a couple of cubic inches, spots where dusky, -shapeless masses represented globs of fifty light-years in diameter. -Rusty caught on. Thoughtfully he looked at Barbara and made a rough -computation that he and she were a couple of hundred light-years apart. -His eyes, he thought, must be about thirty light-years apart, and the -diameter of his head, at eight-and-a-third light-years per inch—</p> - -<p>Dusty began to feel light-headed.</p> - -<p>Through and through the model ran the colored lines, tangled and -skeined and then they were facing the point where the greenish-yellow -course-line ended.</p> - -<p>Above the control panel was a faintly glowing sphere about two inches -in diameter.</p> - -<p>"Sol?" asked Gant.</p> - -<p>Dusty shrugged. "Sol? How can we—"</p> - -<p>He leaned forward and set his right eye close to the pinpoint of light -and looked outward. Was it—could it be—familiar. He changed his -angle of sight. Was Galactic North aligned with Terrestrial North? -Dusty could not remember. The center of the Galaxy? Somewhere in or -near Sagittarius, he believed, but Dusty was not familiar with the -constellation. There! Was that the Belt of Orion? It looked strange, -distorted. The constellation as he remembered it of old, was not like -that. Pinpoints, of course, could not begin to look like these tiny -discs, or vice versa. Was it this that made them seem unfamiliar or -was it that he was displaced in scalar space by enough light-years to -distort the constellation? Was that—there—Polaris and the Dippers, -large and small and Andromeda? Or, thought Dusty with wry self-disgust -creeping into his mind, was that <i>W</i>-shaped thing Cassiopeia? He wished -that he had paid more attention to astronomy.</p> - -<p>Pleiades? He shook his head. That was a cluster and unless one -remembered very carefully the configuration as it looked from Sol, the -conglomeration of stars would probably look about the same from the -same number of light-years from the opposite side.</p> - -<p>Sol—if that sprinkle of glow were Sol—must be near bright Sirius. -An inch away and a double star. And Alpha Centauri should lie about a -half inch from Sol and it should be a fine trinary; two bright ones in -a binary and a less bright one making the triple. And Procyon—or was -that only a single like Sol? He ran through his sorry list of stars -remembered as being within fifteen or sixteen light-years of Sol, and -was appalled to see the number of pinpoints that were surrounded by -that tiny sphere that represented the sixteen light-year diameter. His -mental catalogue had holes in the listings—more hole than listing, he -considered truthfully.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Confused thoughts and vague remembrances plagued him. Wearily Dusty -shook his head. For here, up close to the sprinkles themselves, he -knew that they were not scaled. How could the scale show a binary when -the size of the stars was scaled at a half light-year in diameter? -If that bright one were Sirius as he supposed, it was a single blob -because Sirius and its companion were quite lost in the half light-year -diameter of the glowing spot that represented the system. And so, of -course, was Centauri. No, one could not scale a hundred-thousand -light-years down to a thousand feet and hope to retain enough detail to -calculate a course.</p> - -<p>He nodded unhappily and looked along the green-yellow line that ended -at Sol and realized that at least at one place in the course there was -a change of direction that was so shallow that the diameter of the line -representing the course was so wide that the ship, in actuality, only -traversed space from one side of the line to the other, changed course, -and returned to the first side.</p> - -<p>Dusty leaned forward again, looking along the yellow-greenish line -that marked the Transgalactic course. At the far end he noted the -wink ... wink ... wink of the star-beacon, not much different than it -had appeared in Scyth Radnor's spacecraft. "Where," he asked, "does -their course lead from Sol?"</p> - -<p>"The prospectus, of course, is not shown as finished," said Gant. "But -we can show it momentarily." He pressed a button and a dotted line of -yellow-green flashed into view, extending from the end of the solid -line out and out until it was lost to their view through the star-field -toward the outward Spiral Cluster.</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at the line. "I suppose it isn't to scale or anything," -he said. "But I can't help hoping—Gant, look, suppose this model were -truly to scale, couldn't they save themselves a beacon here?"</p> - -<p>"Save a beacon?"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded and the little spreckles blinked at his eyes. Gant shook -his head. "This model was built in the hope that we could play gods -standing in our galaxy with a measuring stick. We failed because we are -no nearer to the stature of gods than this model is to the stature of -the galaxy itself. We cannot play gods, Dusty Britton."</p> - -<p>"I'm not trying to play God," said Dusty solemnly. "I'm just thinking -that if you can move a planet away from a star you want to convert -into a three-day variable, you might be able to take your barytrine -field and slap it around this star here," Dusty pointed to one with -a forefinger, "Then you move it aside and that gives you a long -run from this beacon to that beacon—missing Sol by a full inch, -or—eight-and-a-third light-years."</p> - -<p>Gant blinked. Slowly, he said, "Move the star—" and let his voice -trail away into a mutter. "Move the interfering star—" he repeated -again. "Then—my Lord!"</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?" asked Dusty.</p> - -<p>"Yours is the glimmer of an idea that makes for the birth of a new -concept!" breathed Gant. "Take it from there, Dusty. Don't you see? -Move a star and straighten out one dogleg, move two and iron out the -course even more. Maybe we could drill a free channel completely -through from Marandis to the Spiral Cluster. Maybe from Marandis to -Star's End, to Vannevarre, to Rescrustes—perhaps from Laranonne to -Ultimane across the whole galaxy, a hundred thousand light-years of -free flight without a change in course. I—"</p> - -<p>A tiny spot of light came crawling along the yellow-green course to -disappear into the tiny pinpoint of light that represented Sol.</p> - -<p>Gant said, "That must have been Transgalactic, returning to Sol to—" -then Gant jumped. "Dusty! Come on! There's no time to waste!"</p> - -<p>He hit the buttons on the control panel viciously and the little flying -catwalk swung noiselessly back across thousands of light-years of -scaled distance to fit into its niche once more. The circular catwalk -rose high above the wispy model to its former position.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XIII</p> - - -<p>Of course Dusty had expected there would be quite a difference between -his handling of Marandanian spacecraft and the professional. But he did -not realize how great this difference was. In a larger ship than Scyth -Radnor's, spearheading a conical flight of twelve more ships, he rode -behind the pilot and admired the smoothness of the man's operation.</p> - -<p>The color of the plate was high in the blue-violet and the stars leaped -out of their background to whip past with hardly a flick. Beacons -fairly buzzed and they grew into flaming balls and were gone behind as -the pilot moved the 'Tee' bar with a deft motion of one hand and used -the other hand to flick back and forth across the controls, changing -the viewpanel co-ordinates and adjusting the various factors for -flight. He skirted gas fields dangerously close and zipped between the -cluster by the double zigzag with a swaying motion, then humped the -spacer down tight and made a dead run for it.</p> - -<p>And behind him in a cone came the rest, in tight formation, conically -arranged below the leader in tiers, three, four, five.</p> - -<p>They soared around another beacon, its flashing fire bright blue -and the coronal glow reaching out for them, and then the pilot was -calling out numbers and a man at the computer was punching keys. On -the viewpanel before them lay another beacon, winking ... winking ... -winking.</p> - -<p>Behind them, a continuous tape was running through the recording -machine, playing its words on the phanoband communication channels: -"Calling Transgalactic. Government Priority and Emergency! Calling -Transgalactic! You are to disable your barytrine generator, you are to -discontinue all operations at once! By Order of the Bureau Of Galactic -Affairs!"</p> - -<p>A man sat tense in his chair peering at a greenish screen that had a -halo-spot in the middle. The halo was growing larger, but so slow as to -be almost steady. The man held a micrometer thimble between his thumb -and forefinger and was turning it slowly, keeping a pair of dark lines -tangent to the bright edge of the halo. From time to time he would call -out a figure which another man would pluck out on a keyboard.</p> - -<p>"Why don't they answer?" breathed Barbara.</p> - -<p>Gant smiled sourly. "Because they are going to go through with it if -they can."</p> - -<p>"But—?"</p> - -<p>"They have every legal right to maintain communication silence, even -though at the present time there is small point in maintaining secrecy -about this rift. Their legal position is one of fair safety; one cannot -be convicted of disobeying orders that one does not hear."</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed Gant angrily. "You mean to say they can't hear that signal?"</p> - -<p>"Of course they hear it. But can you prove that they hear it?"</p> - -<p>"On Terra we have a maxim that ignorance of the law is no defense. This -is to keep people from shooting people and then claiming that they -didn't know that shooting people was forbidden by law."</p> - -<p>"Very sensible. We have the same laws and the same interpretation," -smiled Gant. "But in this case we have a different situation. As of -the last acknowledged contact with Transgalactic, and specifically -that part which is dealing with Sol and Terra, they had every right to -proceed. The law has been changed. Now it is up to the law to see that -the change in law has been properly delivered to the interested parties -and that the change is acknowledged. Follow?"</p> - -<p>Dusty nodded. "<i>Ex post facto</i> sort of thing. If you pass a law -forbidding neckties on Tuesday, you cannot arrest a man for having -appeared on Monday without one."</p> - -<p>"Right."</p> - -<p>"But this is already Tuesday."</p> - -<p>"But to be effective, newly-passed laws must be properly posted. -Then must be acknowledged from the farthest point in space. And -Transgalactic is playing communication-silence."</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted angrily. "And that was the character that yelped about -our vengeful nature? Isn't he guilty of the same?"</p> - -<p>Gant Nerley nodded. "Of course! Aren't we all of the same cut of human?"</p> - -<p>The phanoband signal went on:</p> - -<p>"Calling Transgalactic! Discontinue all operations by Order of—" and -so forth.</p> - -<p>The squawk box on the wall said, "Calling Gant Nerley with report."</p> - -<p>"Report!"</p> - -<p>"Report slight increase in phanoradiation high in the subnuclear -region. Cross semi-collateral traces indicating an increase in -lower-level nuclear activity."</p> - -<p>The squawk box clicked off and Dusty looked with puzzlement at Gant -Nerley. "What was all that?" he pleaded.</p> - -<p>"He means that Transgalactic is hard at work. The lower level of -nuclear reactions has increased in intensity, meaning in simple -prediction that the business of making a variable star out of Sol is -under way."</p> - -<p>The Marandanian with the filar micrometer on the barytrine detector -grumbled. "It's going to be a bit rough."</p> - -<p>"Why?" asked the pilot. "If it weren't for that barytrine we'd never -find Sol out of that mess dead ahead. We'd be canvassing the stellar -region around there for weeks if we didn't have a focal point—"</p> - -<p>"I know," grunted the detector operator. "First you need a barytrine -field large enough to make a homing run on, but then once you're home -you'll want a tiny one so you can locate the generator precisely. Well, -you can't have 'em both, Jann."</p> - -<p>Jann Wilkor shook his head. "I wish I'd made this run before. I could -make it faster."</p> - -<p>Gant pointed at the screen and nudged Dusty. The color-scale was still -high in the blue-violet and there were a couple of places on the -viewpanel that were a dead black, tiny spots that did not move as Jann -Wilkor's delicate touch corrected the course. Spots burned out of the -substance of the panel like over-exposed film burned through.</p> - -<p>"It takes a master pilot to make a run this fast. Even so, we're taking -a rather high risk. But if the channel was free and open from Marandis -to Spiral Cluster, with only a big phanobeacon at either end, we could -make it with the screen burning black-violet. We may even have to -develop a new supraradiant material for ultra-high velocities."</p> - -<p>"How fast can you go?"</p> - -<p>Jann Wilkor soared around a beacon and centered on the next before -the flicking wave of heat was gone. He did it easily and with the -negligent reflex of the master pilot. "Fitt Mazorn took one of the -high speed jobs into intergalactic space for a speed run a year ago -and claims to have made it from Laranonne to Ultimane in slightly less -than an hour. Or," corrected the pilot, "an equivalent distance, out in -deep-deep space. Some of this is probably guff; I doubt that he could -do it. That's a hundred thousand light-years per hour and just a bit -fantastic. Trouble is that the phanobands propagate at a finite speed, -according to Hahn Tratter, and therefore the true velocity is difficult -to check, since no one has been able to measure phanoband velocity."</p> - -<p>"At any rate, it's fast," said Dusty, who did not understand half of -what the pilot said.</p> - -<p>Gant nodded. "It's fast. It's what we'll be doing in your clear -channels, Dusty. That will make you rich and famous, that idea of -yours."</p> - -<p>"Iffing and providing we can get there in time."</p> - -<p>"No matter. If Terra is lost to you, you'll still—"</p> - -<p>"Look," said Dusty, "if that bunch wins out, I'll—"</p> - -<p>"And I won't blame you," replied Gant.</p> - -<p>There came a double report. The man on the barytrine detector said, -"Barytrine field just went into the second phase," at the same time -that the pilot said, "Last lap!" and turned his point of aim around the -beacon to center the hairs on a small star that did not wink.</p> - -<p>"Our next problem is to scour Terra inch by inch to find their -barytrine generator," said Gant worriedly.</p> - -<p>Dusty groaned. He thought of the trackless wastes of the planet; the -Upper Amazon jungles, the tundra of Alaska and Siberia, the hidden -reaches of Africa, high Tibet, and for that matter the cornfields of -Iowa and the wheat fields of Saskatchewan. The fathomless, staggering -area of the sea bottoms was too vast a hopeless search-problem to -contemplate.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Gant looked at Dusty. "It's bad, Dusty. I'll not fool you, but it's -bad. We have perhaps a day or two, perhaps three. We're late. By the -time we arrive, the phase-two growth will be heavy enough to cause -leakage-reaction in our detector and render the detector completely -ambiguous."</p> - -<p>"Meaning what?"</p> - -<p>"What I said. That we must scour Terra inch by inch. And here is where -you must help."</p> - -<p>"Me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. You must issue orders to your Space Patrol to comb the landscape. -You must find that barytrine generator."</p> - -<p>Dusty looked at Gant Nerley blankly. "You realize what you're asking? -That within a matter of hours we must set up a land-scouring search -and completely cover the entire earth? I haven't even got the foggiest -notion of how many million square miles of earth there are, let alone -the ocean-bottom which we couldn't even touch, lacking the equipment."</p> - -<p>"They wouldn't plant it on a sea bottom."</p> - -<p>"No? Look, Gant, remember that they're planning on keeping this thing -running for a thousand years. They'll have to hide it good."</p> - -<p>Gant shook his head with a wan smile. "Not at all. You forget that so -far as anybody within the barytrine field is likely to see it, the -total time will be from right now until the field goes on in a few -hours. Then the enclosure-time will elapse instantaneously for those -within. Anybody who finds it once the job goes on will find it after -you have been freed of the field. The chances are high that they've -dropped it in some comfortable climate, possibly near a large city, -just as Scyth Radnor did."</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed Gant sourly. "For the same purpose?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Probably. After all, Dusty—" Gant let the statement hang, suggesting -silently that Dusty was the kind of human who would think of the same -thing and act on it. "So you must issue orders to your Patrol—"</p> - -<p>Dusty grunted. His Patrol? Discredited, his position shot to bits, his -public appeal running somewhere near absolute zero, who would even -listen to him? His former admirers had shucked their Space Patrol -clothing for the costume of Jack Vandal, Space Rover.</p> - -<p>Then he sat up with a puzzled smile.</p> - -<p>"You have an idea?"</p> - -<p>"I hope so."</p> - -<p>"And—?"</p> - -<p>Dusty smiled wistfully. "From the time Scyth Radnor opened his -spacelock and blasted off the end of my antenna, I've been running a -losing battle," he said. "I've been playing a game far over my head; -outpointed, overbid, overdrawn and sinking. About the only reason I'm -still here fighting is that some of the rules of this cockeyed game -seem to fall into my own act. Yes, dammit, I've got an idea. Can I call -the orders, Gant?"</p> - -<p>"Take over, Dusty."</p> - -<p>Dusty turned to the pilot. "When we get there," he said, "Circle the -planet several times as fast and as low as you can. Create a stir. -Radiate like mad, anything you can radiate. Call attention to us in a -bold fashion and show 'em that what we've got is big, important and -powerful." Then to Gant Nerley he put the question, "You wouldn't have -anything as primitive as a radio set aboard, would you?"</p> - -<p>"You mean a radiomagnetic communication device? Well, not for -communications but we do have a small receiver for detecting the -lower-radiation stars and one for scanning planetary systems for -primitive cultures. What did you have in mind?"</p> - -<p>Dusty looked Gant in the eye. "I want to broadcast orders to my Patrol."</p> - -<p>"Oh. An excellent idea. We'll save time that way. The scanner-type -radiomagnetic wave equipment is two-way and connected to a menslator -for contacting primitive peoples, you know, and—"</p> - -<p>"Get it fired up," said Dusty shortly. "Full power."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The screech of air came first as a thin whistle, and then thundered and -slammed down at Earth below as the thirteen Marandanian spacecraft were -inched lower and lower into the complaining atmosphere. The howling -racket dinned into the ears of Russian and Chinese and Hawaiian and -Californian and New Yorker and Briton and Frenchman and Indian and -Malayan and Indonesian and Argentinian and South African and Australian -and Mexican and Floridian. Around it went, across the land and the sea, -a thunder blast of rent air that piled shock wave on shock wave and -sent them tearing down at the ground below. The thunder cracked windows -and made plaster sift down from ceilings. It dinned down a tree or two, -and it hurled some people to the ground. It flipped a parked fleet of -jetplanes over in crumpled ruin like a windstorm hitting a deck of -cards.</p> - -<p>Across the world, radar operators looked blankly at the signal pips -that raced across their screens and began to make apologetic reports. -Interceptors tried to rise, but were tossed madly in the racing -shock-stream to lose ground and return to earth limping.</p> - -<p>But in the lead spacecraft of this mad fleet, the barytrine operator -watched his detector hopefully. The entire screen was aglow, but he -watched it and finally said, "I think it's down there somewhere."</p> - -<p>He pointed to a region in Indiana not far from the lower tip of Lake -Michigan.</p> - -<p>The fleet circled Terra once more, swung high for the long dive, and -then came howling down on a long slant, while Dusty took the radio and -cried: "Junior Spacemen of The Space Patrol, <i>Attention</i>!"</p> - -<p>The radio, powered by machinus forces, hammered down and blanketed -the radio broadcast stations. It broke up the video screens in a mash -of spots, flecks and snowflakes. Dusty's voice roared into telephone -lines and onto the commercial radio links and chattered indistinctly in -direction-finding equipment and made incomprehensible squiggles clutter -the radar screens.</p> - -<p>"Junior Spacemen, Attention to Official Orders! By now you are aware -that your Commander, Dusty Britton, flies with a fleet of spacecraft -above you. Now hear this!</p> - -<p>"Within a few hundred miles of the lower tip of Lake Michigan there is -concealed somewhere a dangerous device known as a barytrine generator. -This must be located and stopped.</p> - -<p>"Now! To the Junior Spaceman who locates this machine I will personally -award the Medal of Merit. And to the entire Group Command of which he -is a member I will award full scholarships as Space Midshipmen in a -real Space Academy, to make them real spacemen.</p> - -<p>"Now, Junior Spacemen, go out and find me that barytrine generator!"</p> - -<p>Dusty signed off as the down-rushing fleet swaybacked close to the -ground and pulled out to swap ends and go screaming up in a stark -vertical climb, its drivers fighting the rise to a standstill fifty -miles in the sky.</p> - -<p>Here they hovered for a second to turn rightside up and then the flight -formed into a pattern and began to land, coming down slowly.</p> - -<p>Before they were halfway down, Dusty saw results. In the telescope -were moving dots scouring the landscape. And along highways that led -from town and city were boys on bicycles and a few in cars driven by -parents. Across the fields they went, peering under trees and behind -bushes, scouring the cornfields and the farms and stamping through -woodsy sections like swarming ants.</p> - -<p>But then as the flight landed in a neat pattern in a bald field, the -barytrine detector hissed once and gave up, smoke curling out of the -cabinet.</p> - -<p>"Close," said the operator.</p> - -<p>But Dusty, with a yell, was at the airlock. For across the field a -thousand yards away was a faint bluish haze that shimmered iridescent -in the sunlight. He pawed at the door as it swung open ponderously, -then he looked around wildly for something to use. His eyes fell upon a -small cabinet.</p> - -<p>Scyth had placed that fluted-barrelled thing back in the airlock after -he burned Dusty's antenna off. Dusty tore a cabinet open and grabbed -one of the fluted-barrelled things from a clip.</p> - -<p>Then he jumped to the ground and raced across the field.</p> - -<p>"Dusty!" roared Gant Nerley. "That's dangerous. You can't—"</p> - -<p>Gant let his voice trail away as Dusty plunged into the blue haze, -fingering the trigger-button at the top of the pistol grip. The searing -beam lashed out and slashed at the air as Dusty's heels caught the -ground in a braking slide. Then the knifing beam slashed down across -the metal case and into the ground before it. Curls of smoke arose and -the ground sizzled. He cross-slashed and cut another ribbon out of the -air and the barytrine generator, then cut down again.</p> - -<p>There was a hiss and a sputter and the blue haze ceased—there was a -blinding flash and a flat bark of something exploding violently. Dusty -felt a wave of almost-intolerable heat, his closed eyes were seared by -a flare of brightness, and the explosion hurled him backwards on his -spine. He turned and scrambled back, stumbling over the rough ground, -blinded.</p> - -<p>At that moment four members of the Junior Space Patrol came through a -small thicket of trees.</p> - -<p>"Gee," said their Group Leader. "Gee—the Commander found it first!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They stood on a small reviewing stand, Dusty Britton and the Group -Command that had come through the thicket of trees in time to steer -their blinded Commander away from the flaring barytrine generator. -Dusty's face and hands were a super-sunburned red, and his eyes were -still puffy but open enough to see.</p> - -<p>From a sheet of paper he read:</p> - -<p>"It is not within my power to grant a medal that is worth the tin it is -made of. But for the diligence and their quick action I do hereby grant -and guarantee them full scholarships in White Sands University, which -by the time they graduate will have become a full Space Academy. So I -here hand them their Certificates of Entry, and to the President of -White Sands University I deliver a certified check to be held in trust -and used for their education.</p> - -<p>"I salute the future Commanders of The Space Patrol and step down from -my position to leave it open for them!"</p> - -<p>There came a roar from the crowd that thundered across the field as -Dusty stepped from the platform into a spaceport jeep and was hustled -out to Gant Nerley's flagship. Inside there were a number of men -waiting.</p> - -<p>"Now see here, Dusty, you can't go galaxy-hopping when we've got plans -for you."</p> - -<p>Dusty eyed Martin Gramer with a grunt. "Last time we met in a place -like this you had me all scheduled to take a space hop when I had other -plans for myself. No dice, Gramer."</p> - -<p>"But look at the money—"</p> - -<p>"I'll make millions out of this clear-channel idea, according to Gant, -here."</p> - -<p>"That's right," said Gant.</p> - -<p>"So," said Dusty, "if you think I'm going to go on playing the part of -a broken-down hero-spaceman when there are real spacemen around, you're -nuts, Gramer. Include me—as you've said so often—out."</p> - -<p>"But what are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>"Me? I'm going to Marandis. Barb and I have an offer from Supergalaxy -Spectacles to make a series of what they call 'Primitives.' You know, -old-timers with men using chemical rockets and learning their first -feeble steps into space."</p> - -<p>He grinned at Barbara knowingly. "I've got a script of <i>Destination -Moon</i> I swiped from Central Files. It should oughta wow 'em cold!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="ph1">[Transcriber's Note: No Chapter XII heading in original publication.]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TROUBLED STAR ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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