Brian Carnell's Wiki

This page is read only. You can view the source, but not change it. Ask your administrator if you think this is wrong.
<html>
<div class="tease1">
<p class="tease">The Masters had ruled all space
with an unconquerable iron fist. But
the Masters were gone. And this new,
young race who came now to take their
place&mdash;could they hope to defeat the
ancient Enemy of All?</p></div>


<p class="head1">PART ONE</p>


<h1>MASTERS<br />
OF<br />
SPACE</h1>


<h2 class="h2title">By EDWARD E. SMITH &amp;<br />
E. EVERETT EVANS</h2>


<p class="illo">Illustrated by BERRY</p>








<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>I</h2>


<p class="cap">"BUT didn't you feel <i>anything</i>,
Javo?" Strain
was apparent in every line of
Tula's taut, bare body. "Nothing
at all?"</p>

<p>"Nothing whatever." The
one called Javo relaxed from
his rigid concentration.
"Nothing has changed. Nor
will it."</p>

<p>"That conclusion is indefensible!"
Tula snapped.
"With the promised return of
the Masters there must and
will be changes. Didn't <i>any</i>
of you feel anything?"</p>

<p>Her hot, demanding eyes
swept the group; a group
whose like, except for physical
perfection, could be found
in any nudist colony.</p>

<p>No one except Tula had
felt a thing.</p>

<p>"That fact is not too surprising,"
Javo said finally.
"You have the most sensitive
receptors of us all. But are
you sure?"</p>

<p>"I am sure. It was the
thought-form of a living
Master."</p>

<p>"Do you think that the
Master perceived your web?"</p>

<p>"It is certain. Those who
built us are stronger than
we."</p>

<p>"That is true. As they
promised, then, so long and
long ago, our Masters are returning
home to us."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p>Jarvis Hilton of Terra, the
youngest man yet to be assigned
to direct any such tremendous
deep-space undertaking
as Project Theta Orionis,
sat in conference with
his two seconds-in-command.
Assistant Director Sandra
Cummings, analyst-synthesist
and semantician, was tall,
blonde and svelte. Planetographer
William Karns&mdash;a
black-haired, black-browed,
black-eyed man of thirty&mdash;was
third in rank of the scientific
group.</p>

<p>"I'm telling you, Jarve, you
can't have it both ways,"
Karns declared. "Captain
Sawtelle is old-school Navy
brass. He goes strictly by the
book. So you've got to draw
a razor-sharp line; exactly
where the Advisory Board's
directive puts it. And next
time he sticks his ugly puss
across that line, kick his face
in. You've been Caspar Milquetoast
Two ever since we
left Base."</p>

<p>"That's the way it looks to
you?" Hilton's right hand became
a fist. "The man has
age, experience and ability.
I've been trying to meet him
on a ground of courtesy and
decency."</p>

<p>"Exactly. And he doesn't
recognize the existence of
either. And, since the Board
rammed you down his throat
instead of giving him old
Jeffers, you needn't expect
him to."</p>

<p>"You may be right, Bill.
What do you think, Dr. Cummings?"</p>

<p>The girl said: "Bill's right.
Also, your constant appeasement
isn't doing the morale
of the whole scientific group
a bit of good."</p>

<p>"Well, I haven't enjoyed it,
either. So next time I'll pin
his ears back. Anything
else?"</p>

<p>"Yes, Dr. Hilton, I have a
squawk of my own. I know I
was rammed down your
throat, but just when are you
going to let me do some
work?"</p>

<p>"None of us has much of
anything to do yet, and won't
have until we light somewhere.
You're off base a
country mile."</p>

<p>"I'm not off base. You <i>did</i>
want Eggleston, not me."</p>

<p>"Sure I did. I've worked
with him and know what he
can do. But I'm not holding a
grudge about it."</p>

<p>"No? Why, then, are you
on first-name terms with
everyone in the scientific
group except me? Supposedly
your first assistant?"</p>

<p>"That's easy!" Hilton
snapped. "Because you've
been carrying chips on both
shoulders ever since you
came aboard ... or at least I
thought you were." Hilton
grinned suddenly and held
out his hand. "Sorry, Sandy&mdash;I'll
start all over again."</p>

<p>"I'm sorry too, Chief."
They shook hands warmly.
"I <i>was</i> pretty stiff, I guess,
but I'll be good."</p>

<p>"You'll go to work right
now, too. As semantician. Dig
out that directive and tear it
down. Draw that line Bill
talked about."</p>

<p>"Can do, boss." She swung
to her feet and walked out of
the room, her every movement
one of lithe and easy
grace.</p>

<p>Karns followed her with
his eyes. "Funny. A trained-dancer
Ph.D. And a Miss
America type, like all the
other women aboard this
spacer. I wonder if she'll
make out."</p>

<p>"So do I. I still wish they'd
given me Eggy. I've never
seen an executive-type female
Ph.D. yet that was worth the
cyanide it would take to poison
her."</p>

<p>"That's what Sawtelle
thinks of you, too, you
know."</p>

<p>"I know; and the Board
<i>does</i> know its stuff. So I'm
really hoping, Bill, that she
surprises me as much as I intend
to surprise the Navy."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">ALARM bells clanged as
the mighty <i>Perseus</i>
blinked out of overdrive.
Every crewman sprang to his
post.</p>

<p>"Mister Snowden, why did
we emerge without orders
from me?" Captain Sawtelle
bellowed, storming into the
control room three jumps behind
Hilton.</p>

<p>"The automatics took control,
sir," he said, quietly.</p>

<p>"Automatics! I <i>give</i> the orders!"</p>

<p>"In this case, Captain Sawtelle,
you don't," Hilton said.
Eyes locked and held. To
Sawtelle, this was a new and
strange co-commander. "I
would suggest that we discuss
this matter in private."</p>

<p>"Very well, sir," Sawtelle
said; and in the captain's
cabin Hilton opened up.</p>

<p>"For your information,
Captain Sawtelle, I set my
inter-space coupling detectors
for any objective I choose.
When any one of them reacts,
it trips the kickers and we
emerge. During any emergency
outside the Solar System
I am in command&mdash;with
the provision that I must relinquish
command to you in
case of armed attack on us."</p>

<p>"Where do you think you
found any such stuff as that
in the directive? It isn't there
and I know my rights."</p>

<p>"It is, and you don't. Here
is a semantic chart of the
whole directive. As you will
note, it overrides many Navy
regulations. Disobedience of
my orders constitutes mutiny
and I can&mdash;and will&mdash;have
you put in irons and sent
back to Terra for court-martial.
Now let's go back."</p>

<p>In the control room, Hilton
said, "The target has a mass
of approximately five hundred
metric tons. There is
also a significant amount of
radiation characteristic of
uranexite. You will please execute
search, Captain Sawtelle."</p>

<p>And Captain Sawtelle ordered
the search.</p>

<p>"What did you do to the
big jerk, boss?" Sandra whispered.</p>

<p>"What you and Bill suggested,"
Hilton whispered
back. "Thanks to your analysis
of the directive&mdash;pure
gobbledygook if there ever
was any&mdash;I could. Mighty
good job, Sandy."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">TEN or fifteen more minutes
passed. Then:</p>

<p>"Here's the source of radiation,
sir," a searchman reported.
"It's a point source,
though, not an object at this
range."</p>

<p>"And here's the artifact,
sir," Pilot Snowden said.
"We're coming up on it fast.
But ... but what's a <i>skyscraper</i>
skeleton doing out here in
interstellar space?"</p>

<p>As they closed up, everyone
could see that the thing
did indeed look like the
metallic skeleton of a great
building. It was a huge cube,
measuring well over a hundred
yards along each edge.
And it was empty.</p>

<p>"<i>That's</i> one for the book,"
Sawtelle said.</p>

<p>"And how!" Hilton agreed.
"I'll take a boat ... no, suits
would be better. Karns, Yarborough,
get Techs Leeds and
Miller and suit up."</p>

<p>"You'll need a boat escort,"
Sawtelle said. "Mr. Ashley,
execute escort Landing Craft
One, Two, and Three."</p>

<p>The three landing craft approached
that enigmatic lattice-work
of structural steel
and stopped. Five grotesquely
armored figures wafted
themselves forward on pencils
of force. Their leader,
whose suit bore the number
"14", reached a mammoth
girder and worked his way
along it up to a peculiar-looking
bulge. The whole immense
structure vanished, leaving
men and boats in empty
space.</p>

<p>Sawtelle gasped. "Snowden!
Are you holding 'em?"</p>

<p>"No, sir. Faster than light;
hyperspace, sir."</p>

<p>"Mr. Ashby, did you have
your interspace rigs set?"</p>

<p>"No, sir. I didn't think of
it, sir."</p>

<p>"Doctor Cummings, why
weren't yours out?"</p>

<p>"I didn't think of such a
thing, either&mdash;any more than
you did," Sandra said.</p>

<p>Ashby, the Communications
Officer, had been working
the radio. "No reply from
anyone, sir," he reported.</p>

<p>"Oh, no!" Sandra exclaimed.
Then, "But look!
They're firing pistols&mdash;especially
the one wearing number
fourteen&mdash;but <i>pistols</i>?"</p>

<p>"Recoil pistols&mdash;sixty-threes&mdash;for
emergency use in
case of power failure," Ashby
explained. "That's it ... but I
can't see why <i>all</i> their power
went out at once. But Fourteen&mdash;that's
Hilton&mdash;is really
doing a job with that sixty-three.
He'll be here in a couple
of minutes."</p>

<p>And he was. "Every power
unit out there&mdash;suits
and boats both&mdash;drained,"
Hilton reported. "<i>Completely</i>
drained. Get some help
out there fast!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p>In an enormous structure
deep below the surface of a
far-distant world a group of
technicians clustered together
in front of one section of
a two-miles long control
board. They were staring at a
light that had just appeared
where no light should have
been.</p>

<p>"Someone's brain-pan will
be burned out for this," one
of the group radiated harshly.
"That unit was inactivated
long ago and it has not been
reactivated."</p>

<p>"Someone committed an error,
Your Loftiness?"</p>

<p>"Silence, fool! Stretts do
not commit errors!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AS soon as it was clear that
no one had been injured,
Sawtelle demanded, "How
about it, Hilton?"</p>

<p>"Structurally, it was high-alloy
steel. There were many
bulges, possibly containing
mechanisms. There were
drive-units of a non-Terran
type. There were many projectors,
which&mdash;at a rough
guess&mdash;were a hundred times
as powerful as any I have
ever seen before. There were
no indications that the thing
had ever been enclosed, in
whole or in part. It certainly
never had living quarters for
warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing
eaters of organic food."</p>

<p>Sawtelle snorted. "You
mean it never had a crew?"</p>

<p>"Not necessarily...."</p>

<p>"Bah! What other kind of
intelligent life is there?"</p>

<p>"I don't know. But before
we speculate too much, let's
look at the tri-di. The camera
may have caught something I
missed."</p>

<p>It hadn't. The three-dimensional
pictures added nothing.</p>

<p>"It probably was operated
either by programmed automatics
or by remote control,"
Hilton decided, finally. "But
how did they drain all our
power? And just as bad, what
and how is that other point
source of power we're heading
for now?"</p>

<p>"What's wrong with it?"
Sawtelle asked.</p>

<p>"Its strength. No matter
what distance or reactant I
assume, nothing we know will
fit. Neither fission nor fusion
will do it. It has to be practically
total conversion!"</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>II</h2>


<p class="cap">THE <i>Perseus</i> snapped out
of overdrive near the point
of interest and Hilton stared,
motionless and silent.</p>

<p>Space was full of madly
warring ships. Half of them
were bare, giant skeletons of
steel, like the "derelict" that
had so unexpectedly blasted
away from them. The others
were more or less like the
<i>Perseus</i>, except in being bigger,
faster and of vastly
greater power.</p>

<p>Beams of starkly incredible
power bit at and clung to
equally capable defensive
screens of pure force. As
these inconceivable forces
met, the glare of their neutralization
filled all nearby
space. And ships and skeletons
alike were disappearing
in chunks, blobs, gouts,
streamers and sparkles of
rended, fused and vaporized
metal.</p>

<p>Hilton watched two ships
combine against one skeleton.
Dozens of beams, incredibly
tight and hard, were held inexorably
upon dozens of
the bulges of the skeleton.
Overloaded, the bulges'
screens flared through the
spectrum and failed. And
bare metal, however refractory,
endures only for instants
under the appalling intensity
of such beams as
those.</p>

<p>The skeletons tried to duplicate
the ships' method of
attack, but failed. They were
too slow. Not slow, exactly,
either, but hesitant; as though
it required whole seconds for
the commander&mdash;or operator?
Or remote controller?&mdash;of
each skeleton to make it act.
The ships were winning.</p>

<p>"Hey!" Hilton yelped. "Oh&mdash;that's
the one we saw back
there. But what in all space
does it think it's doing?"</p>

<p>It was plunging at tremendous
speed straight through
the immense fleet of embattled
skeletons. It did not fire
a beam nor energize a screen;
it merely plunged along as
though on a plotted course
until it collided with one of
the skeletons of the fleet and
both structures plunged, a
tangled mass of wreckage, to
the ground of the planet below.</p>

<p>Then hundreds of the ships
shot forward, each to plunge
into and explode inside one of
the skeletons. When visibility
was restored another wave of
ships came forward to repeat
the performance, but there
was nothing left to fight.
Every surviving skeleton had
blinked out of normal space.</p>

<p>The remaining ships made
no effort to pursue the skeletons,
nor did they re-form as
a fleet. Each ship went off
by itself.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p>And on that distant planet
of the Stretts the group of
mechs watched with amazed
disbelief as light after light
after light winked out on
their two-miles-long control
board. Frantically they relayed
orders to the skeletons;
orders which did not affect
the losses.</p>

<p>"Brain-pans will blacken
for this ..." a mental snarl
began, to be interrupted by a
coldly imperious thought.</p>

<p>"That long-dead unit, so inexplicably
reactivated, is approaching
the fuel world. It
is ignoring the battle. It is
heading through our fleet toward
the Oman half ... <i>handle</i>
it, ten-eighteen!"</p>

<p>"It does not respond, Your
Loftiness."</p>

<p>"Then blast it, fool! Ah, it
is inactivated. As encyclopedist,
Nine, explain the
freakish behavior of that
unit."</p>

<p>"Yes, Your Loftiness. Many
cycles ago we sent a ship
against the Omans with a new
device of destruction. The
Omans must have intercepted
it, drained it of power and allowed
it to drift on. After all
these cycles of time it must
have come upon a small
source of power and of course
continued its mission."</p>

<p>"That can be the truth. The
Lords of the Universe must
be informed."</p>

<p>"The mining units, the carriers
and the refiners have
not been affected, Your Loftiness,"
a mech radiated.</p>

<p>"So I see, fool." Then, activating
another instrument,
His Loftiness thought at it,
in an entirely different vein,
"Lord Ynos, Madam? I have
to make a very grave report...."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">IN the <i>Perseus</i>, four scientists
and three Navy officers
were arguing heatedly;
employing deep-space verbiage
not to be found in any
dictionary. "Jarve!" Karns
called out, and Hilton joined
the group. "Does anything
about this planet make any
sense to you?"</p>

<p>"No. But you're the planetographer.
'Smatter with it?"</p>

<p>"It's a good three hundred
degrees Kelvin too hot."</p>

<p>"Well, you know it's loaded
with uranexite."</p>

<p>"That much? The whole
crust practically jewelry
ore?"</p>

<p>"If that's what the figures
say, I'll buy it."</p>

<p>"Buy <i>this</i>, then. Continuous
daylight everywhere.
Noon June Sol-quality light
<i>except</i> that it's all in the visible.
Frank says it's from bombardment
of a layer of something,
and Frank admits that
the whole thing's impossible."</p>

<p>"When Frank makes up his
mind what 'something' is, I'll
take it as a datum."</p>

<p>"Third thing: there's only
one city on this continent,
and it's protected by a screen
that nobody ever heard of."</p>

<p>Hilton pondered, then
turned to the captain. "Will
you please run a search-pattern,
sir? Fine-toothing only
the hot spots?"</p>

<p>The planet was approximately
the same size as
Terra; its atmosphere, except
for its intense radiation, was
similar to Terra's. There were
two continents; one immense
girdling ocean. The temperature
of the land surface was
everywhere about 100&deg;F, that
of the water about 90&deg;F. Each
continent had one city, and
both were small. One was inhabited
by what looked like
human beings; the other by
usuform robots. The human
city was the only cool spot on
the entire planet; under its
protective dome the temperature
was 71&deg;F.</p>

<p>Hilton decided to study the
robots first; and asked the
captain to take the ship down
to observation range. Sawtelle
objected; and continued
to object until Hilton started
to order his arrest. Then he
said, "I'll do it, under protest,
but I want it on record that I
am doing it against my best
judgment."</p>

<p>"It's on record," Hilton
said, coldly. "Everything said
and done is being, and will
continue to be, recorded."</p>

<p>The <i>Perseus</i> floated downward.
"<i>There's</i> what I want
most to see," Hilton said,
finally. "That big strip-mining
operation ... that's it ... hold
it!" Then, via throat-mike,
"Attention, all scientists!
You all know what to
do. Start doing it."</p>

<p>Sandra's blonde head was
very close to Hilton's brown
one as they both stared into
Hilton's plate. "Why, they
look like giant armadillos!"
she exclaimed.</p>

<p>"More like tanks," he disagreed,
"except that they've
got legs, wheels <i>and</i> treads&mdash;and
arms, cutters, diggers,
probes and conveyors&mdash;and
<i>look</i> at the way those buckets
dip solid rock!"</p>

<p>The fantastic machine was
moving very slowly along a
bench or shelf that it was
making for itself as it went
along. Below it, to its left,
dropped other benches being
made by other mining machines.
The machines were
not using explosives. Hard
though the ore was, the tools
were so much harder and
were driven with such tremendous
power that the stuff
might just have well have
been slightly-clayed sand.</p>

<p>Every bit of loosened ore,
down to the finest dust, was
forced into a conveyor and
thence into the armored body
of the machine. There it went
into a mechanism whose basic
principles Hilton could not
understand. From this monstrosity
emerged two streams
of product.</p>

<p>One of these, comprising
ninety-nine point nine plus
percent of the input, went out
through another conveyor
into the vast hold of a vehicle
which, when full and replaced
by a duplicate of itself, went
careening madly cross-country
to a dump.</p>

<p>The other product, a slow,
very small stream of tiny,
glistening black pellets, fell
into a one-gallon container
being held watchfully by a
small machine, more or less
like a three-wheeled motor
scooter, which was moving
carefully along beside the
giant miner. When this can
was almost full another scooter
rolled up and, without losing
a single pellet, took over
place and function. The first
scooter then covered its bucket,
clamped it solidly into a
recess designed for the purpose
and dashed away toward
the city.</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 361px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:e:edward-smith-masters-of-space-001.png" width="361" height="550" alt="" title="" />
</div>

<p>Hilton stared slack-jawed
at Sandra. She stared back.</p>

<p>"Do you make anything of
that, Jarve?"</p>

<p>"Nothing. They're taking
<i>pure</i> uranexite and <i>concentrating</i>&mdash;or
converting&mdash;it a
thousand to one. I <i>hope</i> we'll
be able to do something about
it."</p>

<p>"I hope so, too, Chief; and
I'm <i>sure</i> we will."</p>

<p>"Well, that's enough for
now. You may take us up
now, Captain Sawtelle. And
Sandy, will you please call
all department heads and
their assistants into the conference
room?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AT the head of the long
conference table, Hilton
studied his fourteen department
heads, all husky young
men, and their assistants, all
surprisingly attractive and
well-built young women. Bud
Carroll and Sylvia Bannister
of Sociology sat together. He
was almost as big as Karns;
she was a green-eyed redhead
whose five-ten and one-fifty
would have looked big except
for the arrangement thereof.
There were Bernadine and
Hermione van der Moen, the
leggy, breasty, platinum-blonde
twins&mdash;both of whom
were Cowper medalists in
physics. There was Etienne
de Vaux, the mathematical
wizard; and Rebecca Eisenstein,
the black-haired, flashing-eyed
ex-infant-prodigy
theoretical astronomer. There
was Beverly Bell, who made
mathematically impossible
chemical syntheses&mdash;who
swam channels for days on
end and computed planetary
orbits in her sleekly-coiffured
head.</p>

<p>"First, we'll have a get-together,"
Hilton said. "Nothing
recorded; just to get acquainted.
You all know that our
fourteen departments cover
science, from astronomy to
zoology."</p>

<p>He paused, again his eyes
swept the group. Stella Wing,
who would have been a grand-opera
star except for her
drive to know everything
about language. Theodora
(Teddy) Blake, who would
prove gleefully that she was
the world's best model&mdash;but
was in fact the most brilliantly
promising theoretician who
had ever lived.</p>

<p>"No other force like this
has ever been assembled,"
Hilton went on. "In more
ways than one. Sawtelle wanted
Jeffers to head this group,
instead of me. Everybody
thought he <i>would</i> head it."</p>

<p>"And Hilton wanted Eggleston
and got <i>me</i>," Sandra
said.</p>

<p>"That's right. And quite a
few of you didn't want to
come at all, but were told by
the Board to come or else."</p>

<p>The group stirred. Eyes
met eyes, and there were
smiles.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I MYSELF think Jeffers
<i>should</i> have had the job.
I've never handled anything
half this big and I'll need a
lot of help. But I'm stuck
with it and you're all stuck
with me, so we'll all take it
and like it. You've noticed,
of course, the accent on
youth. The Navy crew is normal,
except for the commanders
being unusually young.
But we aren't. None of us is
thirty yet, and none of us has
ever been married. You fellows
look like a team of professional
athletes, and you
girls&mdash;well, if I didn't know
better I'd say the Board had
screened you for the front
row of the chorus instead of
for a top-bracket brain-gang.
How they found so many of
you I'll never know."</p>

<p>"Virile men and nubile
women!" Etienne de Vaux
leered enthusiastically. "<i>Vive
le Board!</i>"</p>

<p>"Nubile! Bravo, Tiny!
<i>Quelle delicatesse de
nuance!</i>"</p>

<p>"Three rousing cheers for
the Board!"</p>

<p>"Keep still, you nitwits!
Let me ask a question!" This
came from one of the twins.
"Before you give us the deduction,
Jarvis&mdash;or will it be
an intuition or an induction
or a ..."</p>

<p>"Or an inducement," the
other twin suggested, helpfully.
"Not that <i>you</i> would
need very much of that."</p>

<p>"You keep still, too, Miney.
I'm asking, Sir Moderator, if
I can give my deduction
first?"</p>

<p>"Sure, Bernadine; go
ahead."</p>

<p>"They figured we're going
to get completely lost. Then
we'll jettison the Navy, hunt
up a planet of our own and
start a race to end all human
races. Or would you call this
a <i>see</i>-duction instead of a <i>dee</i>-duction?"</p>

<p>This produced a storm of
whistles, cheers and jeers
that it took several seconds
to quell.</p>

<p>"But seriously, Jarvis,"
Bernadine went on. "We've
all been wondering and it
doesn't make sense. Have you
any idea at all of what the
Board actually did have in
mind?"</p>

<p>"I believe that the Board
selected for mental, not physical,
qualities; for the ability
to handle anything unexpected
or unusual that comes up,
no matter what it is."</p>

<p>"You think it wasn't double-barreled?"
asked Kincaid,
the psychologist. He smiled
quizzically. "That all this virility
and nubility and glamor
is pure coincidence?"</p>

<p>"No," Hilton said, with an
almost imperceptible flick of
an eyelid. "Coincidence is as
meaningless as paradox. I
think they found out that&mdash;barring
freaks&mdash;the best
minds are in the best bodies."</p>

<p>"Could be. The idea has
been propounded before."</p>

<p>"Now let's get to work."
Hilton flipped the switch of
the recorder. "Starting with
you, Sandy, each of you give
a two-minute boil-down. What
you found and what you
think."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">SOMETHING over an hour
later the meeting adjourned
and Hilton and Sandra
strolled toward the control
room.</p>

<p>"I don't know whether you
convinced Alexander Q. Kincaid
or not, but you didn't
quite convince me," Sandra
said.</p>

<p>"Nor him, either."</p>

<p>"Oh?" Sandra's eyebrows</p>

<p>"No. He grabbed the out I
offered him. I didn't fool
Teddy Blake or Temple Bells,
either. You four are all,
though, I think."</p>

<p>"Temple? You think <i>she's</i>
so smart?"</p>

<p>"I don't <i>think</i> so, no. Don't
fool yourself, chick. Temple
Bells looks and acts sweet
and innocent and virginal.
Maybe&mdash;probably&mdash;she is. But
she isn't showing a fraction of
the stuff she's really got.
She's heavy artillery, Sandy.
And I mean <i>heavy</i>."</p>

<p>"I think you're slightly
nuts there. But do you really
believe that the Board was
playing Cupid?"</p>

<p>"Not trying, but doing.
Cold-bloodedly and efficiently.
Yes."</p>

<p>"But it wouldn't <i>work</i>! We
aren't going to get lost!"</p>

<p>"We won't need to. Propinquity
will do the work."</p>

<p>"Phooie. You and me, for
instance?" She stopped, put
both hands on her hips, and
glared. "Why, I wouldn't
marry <i>you</i> if you ..."</p>

<p>"I'll tell the cockeyed world
you won't!" Hilton broke in.
"Me marry a damned female
Ph.D.? Uh-uh. Mine will be
a cuddly little brunette that
thinks a slipstick is some kind
of lipstick and that an isotope's
something good to eat."</p>

<p>"One like that copy of
Murchison's Dark Lady that
you keep under the glass on
your desk?" she sneered.</p>

<p>"Exactly...." He started to
continue the battle, then shut
himself off. "But listen, Sandy,
why should we get into
a fight because we don't want
to marry each other? You're
doing a swell job. I admire
you tremendously for it and
I like to work with you."</p>

<p>"You've got a point there,
Jarve, at that, and I'm one of
the few who know what kind
of a job <i>you're</i> doing, so I'll
relax." She flashed him a
gamin grin and they went on
into the control room.</p>

<p>It was too late in the day
then to do any more exploring;
but the next morning,
early, the <i>Perseus</i> lined out
for the city of the humanoids.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p>Tula turned toward her fellows.
Her eyes filled with a
happily triumphant light and
her thought a lilting song. "I
have been telling you from
the first touch that it was the
Masters. It <i>is</i> the Masters!
The Masters are returning to
us Omans and their own home
world!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"CAPTAIN Sawtelle," Hilton
said, "Please land
in the cradle below."</p>

<p>"<i>Land!</i>" Sawtelle stormed.
"On a planet like <i>that</i>? Not
by ..." He broke off and
stared; for now, on that cradle,
there flamed out in
screaming red the <i>Perseus'</i>
own Navy-coded landing symbols!</p>

<p>"Your protest is recorded,"
Hilton said. "Now, sir, land."</p>

<p>Fuming, Sawtelle landed.
Sandra looked pointedly at
Hilton. "First contact is my
dish, you know."</p>

<p>"Not that I like it, but it
is." He turned to a burly
youth with sun-bleached,
crew-cut hair, "Still safe,
Frank?"</p>

<p>"Still abnormally low. Surprising
no end, since all the
rest of the planet is hotter
than the middle tail-race of
hell."</p>

<p>"Okay, Sandy. Who will
you want besides the top linguists?"</p>

<p>"Psych&mdash;both Alex and
Temple. And Teddy Blake.
They're over there. Tell them,
will you, while I buzz Teddy?"</p>

<p>"Will do," and Hilton
stepped over to the two psychologists
and told them.
Then, "I hope I'm not leading
with my chin, Temple, but is
that your real first name or
a professional?"</p>

<p>"It's real; it really is. My
parents were romantics: dad
says they considered both
'Golden' and 'Silver'!"</p>

<p>Not at all obviously, he
studied her: the almost translucent,
unblemished perfection
of her lightly-tanned,
old-ivory skin; the clear,
calm, deep blueness of her
eyes; the long, thick mane of
hair exactly the color of a
field of dead-ripe wheat.</p>

<p>"You know, I like it," he
said then. "It fits you."</p>

<p>"I'm glad you said that,
Doctor...."</p>

<p>"Not that, Temple. I'm not
going to 'Doctor' you."</p>

<p>"I'll call you 'boss', then,
like Stella does. Anyway, that
lets me tell you that I like
it myself. I really think that
it did something for me."</p>

<p>"<i>Something</i> did something
for you, that's for sure. I'm
mighty glad you're aboard,
and I hope ... here they come.
Hi, Hark! Hi, Stella!"</p>

<p>"Hi, Jarve," said Chief
Linguist Harkins, and:</p>

<p>"Hi, boss&mdash;what's holding
us up?" asked his assistant,
Stella Wing. She was about
five feet four. Her eyes were
a tawny brown; her hair a
flamboyant auburn mop. Perhaps
it owed a little of its
spectacular refulgence to
chemistry, Hilton thought,
but not too much. "Let us
away! Let the lions roar and
let the welkin ring!"</p>

<p>"Who's been feeding <i>you</i>
so much red meat, little
squirt?" Hilton laughed and
turned away, meeting Sandra
in the corridor. "Okay, chick,
take 'em away. We'll cover
you. Luck, girl."</p>

<p>And in the control room,
to Sawtelle, "Needle-beam
cover, please; set for minimum
aperture and lethal
blast. But no firing, Captain
Sawtelle, until I give the order."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE <i>Perseus</i> was surrounded
by hundreds of natives.
They were all adult, all naked
and about equally divided
as to sex. They were friendly;
most enthusiastically so.</p>

<p>"Jarve!" Sandra squealed.
"They're <i>telepathic</i>. Very
strongly so! I never imagined&mdash;I
never felt anything like
it!"</p>

<p>"Any rough stuff?" Hilton
demanded.</p>

<p>"Oh, no. Just the opposite.
They love us ... in a way that's
simply indescribable. I don't
like this telepathy business ...
not clear ... foggy, diffuse ... this
woman is <i>sure</i> I'm her
long-lost great-great-a-hundred-times
grandmother or
something&mdash;<i>You!</i> Slow down.
Take it <i>easy</i>! They want us
all to come out here and live
with ... no, not <i>with</i> them, but
each of us alone in a whole
house with them to wait on
us! But first, they all want
to come aboard...."</p>

<p>"<i>What?</i>" Hilton yelped.
"But are you <i>sure</i> they're
friendly?"</p>

<p>"Positive, chief."</p>

<p>"How about you, Alex?"</p>

<p>"We're all sure, Jarve. No
question about it."</p>

<p>"Bring two of them aboard.
A man and a woman."</p>

<p>"You won't bring <i>any</i>!"
Sawtelle thundered. "Hilton,
I had enough of your stupid,
starry-eyed, ivory-domed
blundering long ago, but this
utterly idiotic brainstorm of
letting enemy aliens aboard
us ends all civilian command.
Call your people back aboard
or I will bring them in by
force!"</p>

<p>"Very well, sir. Sandy, tell
the natives that a slight delay
has become necessary and
bring your party aboard."</p>

<p>The Navy officers smiled&mdash;or
grinned&mdash;gloatingly; while
the scientists stared at their
director with expressions
ranging from surprise to disappointment
and disgust.
Hilton's face remained set, expressionless,
until Sandra and
her party had arrived.</p>

<p>"Captain Sawtelle," he said
then, "I thought that you and
I had settled in private the
question or who is in command
of Project Theta Orionis
at destination. We will
now settle it in public. Your
opinion of me is now on record,
witnessed by your officers
and by my staff. My
opinion of you, which is now
being similarly recorded and
witnessed, is that you are a
hidebound, mentally ossified
Navy mule; mentally and psychologically
unfit to have any
voice in any such mission as
this. You will now agree on
this recording and before
these witnesses, to obey my
orders unquestioningly or I
will now unload all Bureau of
Science personnel and equipment
onto this planet and
send you and the <i>Perseus</i>
back to Terra with the doubly-sealed
record of this episode
posted to the Advisory
Board. Take your choice."</p>

<p>Eyes locked, and under
Hilton's uncompromising
stare Sawtelle weakened. He
fidgeted; tried three times&mdash;unsuccessfully&mdash;to
blare defiance.
Then, "Very well sir,"
he said, and saluted.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"THANK you, sir," Hilton
said, then turned to his
staff. "Okay, Sandy, go
ahead."</p>

<p>Outside the control room
door, "Thank God you don't
play poker, Jarve!" Karns
gasped. "We'd all owe you all
the pay we'll ever get!"</p>

<p>"You think it was the bluff,
yes?" de Vaux asked. "Me, I
think no. Name of a name of
a name! I was wondering with
unease what life would be like
on this so-alien planet!"</p>

<p>"You didn't need to wonder,
Tiny," Hilton assured
him. "It was in the bag. He's
incapable of abandonment."</p>

<p>Beverly Bell, the van der
Moen twins and Temple Bells
all stared at Hilton in awe;
and Sandra felt much the
same way.</p>

<p>"But suppose he <i>had</i> called
you?" Sandra demanded.</p>

<p>"Speculating on the impossible
is unprofitable," he said.</p>

<p>"Oh, you're the most <i>exasperating</i>
thing!" Sandra
stamped a foot. "Don't you&mdash;<i>ever</i>&mdash;answer
a question intelligibly?"</p>

<p>"When the question is
meaningless, chick, I can't."</p>

<p>At the lock Temple Bells,
who had been hanging back,
cocked an eyebrow at Hilton
and he made his way to her
side.</p>

<p>"What was it you started to
say back there, boss?"</p>

<p>"Oh, yes. That we should
see each other oftener."</p>

<p>"That's what I was hoping
you were going to say." She
put her hand under his elbow
and pressed his arm lightly,
fleetingly, against her side.
"That would be indubitably
the fondest thing I could be
of."</p>

<p>He laughed and gave her
arm a friendly squeeze. Then
he studied her again, the most
baffling member of his staff.
About five feet six. Lithe,
hard, trained down fine&mdash;as a
tennis champion, she would
be. Stacked&mdash;<i>how</i> she was
stacked! Not as beautiful as
Sandra or Teddy ... but with
an ungodly lot of something
that neither of them had ... nor
any other woman he had
ever known.</p>

<p>"Yes, I am a little difficult
to classify," she said quietly,
almost reading his mind.</p>

<p>"That's the understatement
of the year! But I'm making
some progress."</p>

<p>"Such as?" This was an
open challenge.</p>

<p>"Except possibly Teddy,
the best brain aboard."</p>

<p>"That isn't true, but go
ahead."</p>

<p>"You're a powerhouse. A
tightly organized, thoroughly
integrated, smoothly functioning,
beautifully camouflaged
Juggernaut. A reasonable
facsimile of an irresistible
force."</p>

<p>"My God, Jarvis!" That
had gone deep.</p>

<p>"Let me finish my analysis.
You aren't head of your department
because you don't
want to be. You fooled the
top psychs of the Board.
You've been running ninety
per cent submerged because
you can work better that way
and there's no glory-hound
blood in you."</p>

<p>She stared at him, licking
her lips. "I knew your mind
was a razor, but I didn't know
it was a diamond drill, too.
That seals your doom, boss,
unless ... no, you can't <i>possibly</i>
know why I'm here."</p>

<p>"Why, of course I do."</p>

<p>"You just think you do.
You see, I've been in love
with you ever since, as a gangling,
bony, knobby-kneed
kid, I listened to your first
doctorate disputation. Ever
since then, my purpose in life
has been to land you."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>III</h2>


<p class="cap">"BUT listen!" he exclaimed.
"I <i>can't</i>, even
if I want...."</p>

<p>"Of course you can't." Pure
deviltry danced in her eyes.
"You're the Director. It
wouldn't be proper. But it's
Standard Operating Procedure
for simple, innocent, unsophisticated
little country
girls like me to go completely
overboard for the boss."</p>

<p>"But you can't&mdash;you
<i>mustn't</i>!" he protested in
panic.</p>

<p>Temple Bells was getting
plenty of revenge for the
shocks he had given her. "I
can't? Watch me!" She
grinned up at him, her eyes
still dancing. "Every chance
I get, I'm going to hug your
arm like I did a minute ago.
And you'll take hold of my
forearm, like you did! That
can be taken, you see, as either:
One, a reluctant acceptance
of a mildly distasteful
but not quite actionable
situation, or: Two, a blocking
move to keep me from climbing
up you like a squirrel!"</p>

<p>"Confound it, Temple, you
<i>can't</i> be serious!"</p>

<p>"Can't I?" She laughed
gleefully. "Especially with
half a dozen of those other
cats watching? Just wait and
see, boss!"</p>

<p>Sandra and her two guests
came aboard. The natives
looked around; the man at
the various human men, the
woman at each of the human
women. The woman remained
beside Sandra; the man took
his place at Hilton's left,
looking up&mdash;he was a couple
of inches shorter than Hilton's
six feet one&mdash;with an
air of ... of <i>expectancy</i>!</p>

<p>"Why this arrangement,
Sandy?" Hilton asked.</p>

<p>"Because we're tops. It's
your move, Jarve. What's
first?"</p>

<p>"Uranexite. Come along,
Sport. I'll call you that until ..."</p>

<p>"Laro," the native said, in
a deep resonant bass voice.
He hit himself a blow on the
head that would have floored
any two ordinary men.
"Sora," he announced, striking
the alien woman a similar
blow.</p>

<p>"Laro and Sora, I would
like to have you look at our
uranexite, with the idea of refueling
our ship. Come with
me, please?"</p>

<p>Both nodded and followed
him. In the engine room he
pointed at the engines, then
to the lead-blocked labyrinth
leading to the fuel holds.
"Laro, do you understand
'hot'? Radioactive?"</p>

<p>Laro nodded&mdash;and started
to open the heavy lead door!</p>

<p>"Hey!" Hilton yelped.
"That's hot!" He seized
Laro's arm to pull him away&mdash;and
got the shock of his
life. Laro weighed at least
five hundred pounds! And
the guy <i>still</i> looked human!</p>

<p>Laro nodded again and
gave himself a terrific thump
on the chest. Then he glanced
at Sora, who stepped away
from Sandra. He then went
into the hold and came out
with two fuel pellets in his
hand, one of which he tossed
to Sora. That is, the motion
looked like a toss, but the
pellet traveled like a bullet.
Sora caught it unconcernedly
and both natives flipped the
pellets into their mouths.
There was a half minute of
rock-crusher crunching; then
both natives opened their
mouths.</p>

<p>The pellets had been pulverized
and swallowed.</p>

<p>Hilton's voice rang out.
"Poynter! How <i>can</i> these
people be non-radioactive after
eating a whole fuel pellet
apiece?"</p>

<p>Poynter tested both natives
again. "Cold," he reported.
"Stone cold. No background
even. Play <i>that</i> on your harmonica!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">LARO nodded, perfectly
matter-of-factly, and in
Hilton's mind there formed a
picture. It was not clear, but
it showed plainly enough a
long line of aliens approaching
the <i>Perseus</i>. Each carried
on his or her shoulder a lead
container holding two hundred
pounds of Navy Regulation
fuel pellets. A standard
loading-tube was sealed into
place and every fuel-hold was
filled.</p>

<p>This picture, Laro indicated
plainly, could become reality
any time.</p>

<p>Sawtelle was notified and
came on the run. "No fuel is
coming aboard without being
tested!" he roared.</p>

<p>"Of course not. But it'll
pass, for all the tea in China.
You haven't had a ten per
cent load of fuel since you
were launched. You can fill
up or not&mdash;the fuel's here&mdash;just
as you say."</p>

<p>"If they can make Navy
standard, of course we want
it."</p>

<p>The fuel arrived. Every
load tested well above standard.
Every fuel hold was
filled to capacity, with no
leakage and no emanation.
The natives who had handled
the stuff did not go away, but
gathered in the engine-room;
and more and more humans
trickled in to see what was
going on.</p>

<p>Sawtelle stiffened. "What's
going on over there, Hilton?"</p>

<p>"I don't know; but let's let
'em go for a minute. I want
to learn about these people
and they've got me stopped
cold."</p>

<p>"You aren't the only one.
But if they wreck that Mayfield
it'll cost you over twenty
thousand dollars."</p>

<p>"Okay." The captain and director
watched, wide eyed.</p>

<p>Two master mechanics had
been getting ready to re-fit a
tube&mdash;a job requiring both
strength and skill. The tube
was very heavy and made of
superefract. The machine&mdash;the
Mayfield&mdash;upon which
the work was to be done, was
extremely complex.</p>

<p>Two of the aliens had
brushed the mechanics&mdash;very
gently&mdash;aside and were doing
their work for them. Ignoring
the hoist, one native had
picked the tube up and was
holding it exactly in place on
the Mayfield. The other,
hands moving faster than the
eye could follow, was locking
it&mdash;micrometrically precise
and immovably secure&mdash;into
place.</p>

<p>"How about this?" one of
the mechanics asked of his
immediate superior. "If we
throw 'em out, how do we do
it?"</p>

<p>By a jerk of the head, the
non-com passed the buck to a
commissioned officer, who
relayed it up the line to Sawtelle,
who said, "Hilton, <i>no</i>body
can run a Mayfield
without months of training.
They'll wreck it and it'll cost
you ... but I'm getting curious
myself. Enough so to take
half the damage. Let 'em go
ahead."</p>

<p>"How <i>about</i> this, Mike?"
one of the machinists asked
of his fellow. "I'm going to
<i>like</i> this, what?"</p>

<p>"Ya-as, my deah Chumley,"
the other drawled, affectedly.
"My man relieves me of <i>so</i>
much uncouth effort."</p>

<p>The natives had kept on
working. The Mayfield was
running. It had always
howled and screamed at its
work, but now it gave out
only a smooth and even hum.
The aliens had adjusted it
with unhuman precision;
they were one with it as no
human being could possibly
be. And every mind present
knew that those aliens were,
at long, long last, fulfilling
their destiny and were, in
that fulfillment, supremely
happy. After tens of thousands
of cycles of time they
were doing a job for their
adored, their revered and
beloved MASTERS.</p>

<p>That was a stunning shock;
but it was eclipsed by another.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I AM sorry, Master Hilton,"
Laro's tremendous
bass voice boomed out, "that
it has taken us so long to
learn your Masters' language
as it now is. Since you left
us you have changed it radically;
while we, of course,
have not changed it at all."</p>

<p>"I'm sorry, but you're mistaken,"
Hilton said. "We are
merely visitors. We have never
been here before; nor, as
far as we know, were any of
our ancestors ever here."</p>

<p>"You need not test us, Master.
We have kept your trust.
Everything has been kept,
changelessly the same, awaiting
your return as you ordered
so long ago."</p>

<p>"Can you read my mind?"
Hilton demanded.</p>

<p>"Of course; but Omans can
not read in Masters' minds
anything except what Masters
want Omans to read."</p>

<p>"Omans?" Harkins asked.
"Where did you Omans and
your masters come from?
Originally?"</p>

<p>"As you know, Master, the
Masters came originally from
Arth. They populated Ardu,
where we Omans were developed.
When the Stretts drove
us from Ardu, we all came to
Ardry, which was your home
world until you left it in our
care. We keep also this, your
half of the Fuel World, in
trust for you."</p>

<p>"Listen, Jarve!" Harkins
said, tensely. "Oman-human.
Arth-Earth. Ardu-Earth Two.
Ardry-Earth Three. You
can't laugh them off ... but
there never <i>was</i> an Atlantis!"</p>

<p>"This is getting no better
fast. We need a full staff
meeting. You, too, Sawtelle,
and your best man. We need
all the brains the <i>Perseus</i> can
muster."</p>

<p>"You're right. But first, get
those naked women out of
here. It's bad enough, having
women aboard at all, but
this ... my men are <i>spacemen</i>,
mister."</p>

<p>Laro spoke up. "If it is the
Masters' pleasure to keep on
testing us, so be it. We have
forgotten nothing. A dwelling
awaits each Master, in
which each will be served by
Omans who will know the
Master's desires without being
told. Every desire. While
we Omans have no biological
urges, we are of course highly
skilled in relieving tensions
and derive as much
pleasure from that service as
from any other."</p>

<p>Sawtelle broke the silence
that followed. "Well, for the
men&mdash;" He hesitated. "Especially
on the ground ... well,
talking in mixed company,
you know, but I think ..."</p>

<p>"Think nothing of the
mixed company, Captain Sawtelle,"
Sandra said. "We women
are scientists, not shrinking
violets. We are accustomed
to discussing the facts
of life just as frankly as any
other facts."</p>

<p>Sawtelle jerked a thumb at
Hilton, who followed him out
into the corridor. "I <i>have</i>
been a Navy mule," he said.
"I admit now that I'm out-maneuvered,
out-manned, and
out-gunned."</p>

<p>"I'm just as baffled&mdash;at
present&mdash;as you are, sir. But
my training has been aimed
specifically at the unexpected,
while yours has not."</p>

<p>"That's letting me down
easy, Jarve." Sawtelle smiled&mdash;the
first time the startled
Hilton had known that the
hard, tough old spacehound
<i>could</i> smile. "What I wanted
to say is, lead on. I'll follow
you through force-field and
space-warps."</p>

<p>"Thanks, skipper. And by
the way, I erased that record
yesterday." The two gripped
hands; and there came into
being a relationship that was
to become a lifelong friendship.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"WE will start for Ardry
immediately," Hilton
said. "How do we make that
jump without charts, Laro?"</p>

<p>"Very easily, Master. Kedo,
as Master Captain Sawtelle's
Oman, will give the orders.
Nito will serve Master Snowden
and supply the knowledge
he says he has forgotten."</p>

<p>"Okay. We'll go up to the
control room and get started."</p>

<p>And in the control room,
Kedo's voice rasped into the
captain's microphone. "Attention,
all personnel! Master
Captain Sawtelle orders take-off
in two minutes. The
countdown will begin at five
seconds.... Five! Four! Three!
Two! One! Lift!"</p>

<p>Nito, not Snowden, handled
the controls. As perfectly as
the human pilot had ever done
it, at the top of his finest
form, he picked the immense
spaceship up and slipped it
silkily into subspace.</p>

<p>"Well, I'll be a ..." Snowden
gasped. "That's a better
job than I <i>ever</i> did!"</p>

<p>"Not at all, Master, as you
know," Nito said. "It was you
who did this. I merely performed
the labor."</p>

<p>A few minutes later, in the
main lounge, Navy and BuSci
personnel were mingling as
they had never done before.
Whatever had caused this relaxation
of tension&mdash;the
friendship of captain and director?
The position in which
they all were? Or what?&mdash;they
all began to get acquainted
with each other.</p>

<p>"Silence, please, and be
seated," Hilton said. "While
this is not exactly a formal
meeting, it will be recorded
for future reference. First, I
will ask Laro a question.
Were books or records left
on Ardry by the race you call
the Masters?"</p>

<p>"You know there are, Master.
They are exactly as you
left them. Undisturbed for
over two hundred seventy-one
thousand years."</p>

<p>"Therefore we will not
question the Omans. We do
not know what questions to
ask. We have seen many
things hitherto thought impossible.
Hence, we must discard
all preconceived opinions
which conflict with facts. I
will mention a few of the
problems we face."</p>

<p>"The Omans. The Masters.
The upgrading of the armament
of the <i>Perseus</i> to Oman
standards. The concentration
of uranexite. What is that
concentrate? How is it used?
Total conversion&mdash;how is it
accomplished? The skeletons&mdash;what
are they and how are
they controlled? Their ability
to drain power. Who or what
is back of them? Why a deadlock
that has lasted over a
quarter of a million years?
How much danger are we and
the <i>Perseus</i> actually in? How
much danger is Terra in, because
of our presence here?
There are many other questions."</p>

<p>"Sandra and I will not take
part. Nor will three others;
de Vaux, Eisenstein, and
Blake. You have more important
work to do."</p>

<p>"What can that be?" asked
Rebecca. "Of what possible
use can a mathematician, a
theoretician and a theoretical
astronomer be in such a situation
as this?"</p>

<p>"You can think powerfully
in abstract terms, unhampered
by Terran facts and laws
which we now know are neither
facts nor laws. I cannot
even categorize the problems
we face. Perhaps you three
will be able to. You will listen,
then consult, then tell me
how to pick the teams to do
the work. A more important
job for you is this: Any problem,
to be solved, must be
stated clearly; and we don't
know even what our basic
problem is. I want something
by the use of which I can
break this thing open. Get it
for me."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">REBECCA and de Vaux
merely smiled and nodded,
but Teddy Blake said
happily, "I was beginning to
feel like a fifth wheel on this
project, but <i>that's</i> something
I can really stick my teeth
into."</p>

<p>"Huh? How?" Karns demanded.
"He didn't give you
one single thing to go on;
just compounded the confusion."</p>

<p>Hilton spoke before Teddy
could. "That's their dish,
Bill. If I had any data I'd
work it myself. You first,
Captain Sawtelle."</p>

<p>That conference was a very
long one indeed. There were
almost as many conclusions
and recommendations as there
were speakers. And through
it all Hilton and Sandra listened.
They weighed and tested
and analyzed and made
copious notes; in shorthand
and in the more esoteric
characters of symbolic logic.
And at its end:</p>

<p>"I'm just about pooped,
Sandy. How about you?"</p>

<p>"You and me both, boss. See
you in the morning."</p>

<p>But she didn't. It was four
o'clock in the afternoon when
they met again.</p>

<p>"We made up one of the
teams, Sandy," he said, with
surprising diffidence. "I
know we were going to do it
together, but I got a hunch
on the first team. A kind of
a weirdie, but the brains
checked me on it." He placed
a card on her desk. "Don't
blow your top until after I
you've studied it."</p>

<p>"Why, I won't, of
course...." Her voice died
away. "Maybe you'd better
cancel that 'of course'...."
She studied, and when she
spoke again she was exerting
self-control. "A chemist, a
planetographer, a theoretician,
<i>two</i> sociologists, a psychologist
and a radiationist.
And six of the seven are three
pairs of sweeties. What kind
of a line-up is <i>that</i> to solve
a problem in <i>physics</i>?"</p>

<p>"It isn't in any physics we
know. I said <i>think</i>!"</p>

<p>"Oh," she said, then again
"Oh," and "Oh," and "Oh."
Four entirely different tones.
"I see ... maybe. You're matching
minds, not specialties;
and supplementing?"</p>

<p>"I knew you were smart.
Buy it?"</p>

<p>"It's weird, all right, but
I'll buy it&mdash;for a trial run,
anyway. But I'd hate like sin
to have to sell any part of it
to the Board.... But of course
we're&mdash;I mean you're responsible
only to yourself."</p>

<p>"Keep it 'we', Sandy. You're
as important to this project
as I am. But before we tackle
the second team, what's your
thought on Bernadine and
Hermione? Separate or together?"</p>

<p>"Separate, I'd say. They're
identical physically, and so
nearly so mentally that
of them would be just as good
on a team as both of them.
More and better work on different
teams."</p>

<p>"My thought exactly." And
so it went, hour after hour.</p>

<p>The teams were selected
and meetings were held.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE <i>Perseus</i> reached Ardry,
which was very much
like Terra. There were continents,
oceans, ice-caps,
lakes, rivers, mountains and
plains, forests and prairies.
The ship landed on the spacefield
of Omlu, the City of the
Masters, and Sawtelle called
Hilton into his cabin. The
Omans Laro and Kedo went
along, of course.</p>

<p>"Nobody knows how it
leaked ..." Sawtelle began.</p>

<p>"No secrets around here,"
Hilton grinned. "Omans, you
know."</p>

<p>"I suppose so. Anyway, every
man aboard is all hyped
up about living aground&mdash;especially
with a harem. But before
I grant liberty, suppose
there's any VD around here
that our prophylactics can't
handle?"</p>

<p>"As you know, Masters,"
Laro replied for Hilton before
the latter could open his
mouth, "no disease, venereal
or other, is allowed to exist
on Ardry. No prophylaxis is
either necessary or desirable."</p>

<p>"That ought to hold you
for a while, Skipper." Hilton
smiled at the flabbergasted
captain and went back to the
lounge.</p>

<p>"Everybody going ashore?"
he asked.</p>

<p>"Yes." Karns said. "Unanimous
vote for the first time."</p>

<p>"Who wouldn't?" Sandra
asked. "I'm fed up with living
like a sardine. I will scream
for joy the minute I get into
a real room."</p>

<p>"Cars" were waiting, in a
stopping-and-starting line.
Three-wheel jobs. All were
empty. No drivers, no steering-wheels,
no instruments or
push-buttons. When the
whole line moved ahead as
one vehicle there was no
noise, no gas, no blast.</p>

<p>An Oman helped a Master
carefully into the rear seat
of his car, leaped into the
front seat and the car sped
quietly away. The whole line
of empty cars, acting in perfect
synchronization, shot
forward one space and
stopped.</p>

<p>"This is your car, Master,"
Laro said, and made a production
out of getting Hilton
into the vehicle undamaged.</p>

<p>Hilton's plan had been
beautifully simple. All the
teams were to meet at the
Hall of Records. The linguists
and their Omans would
study the records and pass
them out. Specialty after
specialty would be unveiled
and teams would work on
them. He and Sandy would
sit in the office and analyze
and synthesize and correlate.
It was a very nice plan.</p>

<p>It was a very nice office,
too. It contained every item
of equipment that either Sandra
or Hilton had ever
worked with&mdash;it was a big office&mdash;and
a great many that
neither of them had ever
heard of. It had a full staff of
Omans, all eager to work.</p>

<p>Hilton and Sandra sat in
that magnificent office for
three hours, and no reports
came in. Nothing happened at
all.</p>

<p>"This gives me the howling
howpers!" Hilton growled.
"Why haven't I got brains
enough to be on one of those
teams?"</p>

<p>"I could shed a tear for
you, you big dope, but I
won't," Sandra retorted.
"What do you want to be, besides
the brain and the kingpin
and the balance-wheel
and the spark-plug of the outfit?
Do you want to do
<i>everything</i> yourself?"</p>

<p>"Well, I <i>don't</i> want to go
completely nuts, and that's
all I'm doing at the moment!"
The argument might have become
acrimonious, but it was
interrupted by a call from
Karns.</p>

<p>"Can you come out here,
Jarve? We've struck a knot."</p>

<p>"'Smatter? Trouble with
the Omans?" Hilton snapped.</p>

<p>"Not exactly. Just non-cooperation&mdash;squared.
We can't even get started. I'd like to
have you two come out here
and see if you can do anything.
I'm not trying rough
stuff, because I know it
wouldn't work."</p>

<p>"Coming up, Bill," and
Hilton and Sandra, followed
by Laro and Sora, dashed out
to their cars.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE Hall of Records was
a long, wide, low, windowless,
very massive structure,
built of a metal that looked
like stainless steel. Kept
highly polished, the vast expanse
of seamless and jointless
metal was mirror-bright.
The one great door was open,
and just inside it were the
scientists and their Omans.</p>

<p>"Brief me, Bill," Hilton
said.</p>

<p>"No lights. They won't turn
'em on and we can't. Can't
find either lights or any possible
kind of switches."</p>

<p>"Turn on the lights, Laro,"
Hilton said.</p>

<p>"You know that I cannot
do that, Master. It is forbidden
for any Oman to have
anything to do with the illumination
of this solemn and
revered place."</p>

<p>"Then show me how to do
it."</p>

<p>"That would be just as bad,
Master," the Oman said
proudly. "I will not fail any
test you can devise!"</p>

<p>"Okay. All you Omans go
back to the ship and bring
over fifteen or twenty lights&mdash;the
tripod jobs. Scat!"</p>

<p>They "scatted" and Hilton
went on, "No use asking
questions if you don't know
what questions to ask. Let's
see if we can cook up something.
Lane&mdash;Kathy&mdash;what
has Biology got to say?"</p>

<p>Dr. Lane Saunders and Dr.
Kathryn Cook&mdash;the latter a
willowy brown-eyed blonde&mdash;conferred
briefly. Then Saunders
spoke, running both
hands through his unruly
shock of fiery red hair. "So
far, the best we can do is a
more-or-less educated guess.
They're atomic-powered, total-conversion
androids.
Their pseudo-flesh is composed
mainly of silicon and
fluorine. We don't know the
formula yet, but it is as much
more stable than our teflon
as teflon is than corn-meal
mush. As to the brains, no
data. Bones are super-stainless
steel. Teeth, harder than
diamond, but won't break.
Food, uranexite or its concentrated
derivative, interchangeably.
Storage reserve,
indefinite. Laro and Sora
won't <i>have</i> to eat again for
at least twenty-five years...."</p>

<p>The group gasped as one,
but Saunders went on: "They
can eat and drink and breathe
and so on, but only because
the original Masters wanted
them to. Non-functional.
Skins and subcutaneous layers
are soft, for the same reason.
That's about it, up to
now."</p>

<p>"Thanks, Lane. Hark, is it
reasonable to believe that any
culture whatever could run
for a quarter of a million
years without changing one
word of its language or one
iota of its behavior?"</p>

<p>"Reasonable or not, it seems
to have happened."</p>

<p>"Now for Psychology.
Alex?"</p>

<p>"It seems starkly incredible,
but it seems to be true.
If it is, their minds were subjected
to a conditioning no
Terran has ever imagined&mdash;an
unyielding fixation."</p>

<p>"They can't be swayed,
then, by reason or logic?"
Hilton paused invitingly.</p>

<p>"Or anything else," Kincaid
said, flatly. "If we're
right they can't be swayed,
period."</p>

<p>"I was afraid of that. Well,
that's all the questions I
know how to ask. Any contributions
to this symposium?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AFTER a short silence de
Vaux said, "I suppose
you realize that the first half
of the problem you posed us
has now solved itself?"</p>

<p>"Why, no. No, you're 'way
ahead of me."</p>

<p>"There is a basic problem
and it can now be clearly
stated," Rebecca said. "Problem:
To determine a method
of securing full cooperation
from the Omans. The first
step in the solution of this
problem is to find the most
appropriate operator. Teddy?"</p>

<p>"I have an operator&mdash;of
sorts," Theodora said. "I've
been hoping one of us could
find a better."</p>

<p>"What is it?" Hilton demanded.</p>

<p>"The word 'until'."</p>

<p>"Teddy, you're a <i>sweetheart</i>!"
Hilton exclaimed.</p>

<p>"How can 'until' be a mathematical
operator?" Sandra
asked.</p>

<p>"Easily." Hilton was already
deep in thought. "This
hard conditioning was to last
only <i>until</i> the Masters returned.
Then they'd break it.
So all we have to do is figure
out how a Master would do
it."</p>

<p>"That's <i>all</i>," Kincaid said,
meaningly.</p>

<p>Hilton pondered. Then,
"Listen, all of you. I may
have to try a colossal job of
bluffing...."</p>

<p>"Just what would you call
'colossal' after what you did
to the Navy?" Karns asked.</p>

<p>"That was a sure thing.
This isn't. You see, to find out
whether Laro is really an immovable
object, I've got to
make like an irresistible
force, which I ain't. I don't
know what I'm going to do;
I'll have to roll it as I go
along. So all of you keep on
your toes and back any play
I make. Here they come."</p>

<p>The Omans came in and
Hilton faced Laro, eyes to
eyes. "Laro," he said, "you refused
to obey my direct order.
Your reasoning seems to
be that, whether the Masters
wish it or not, you Omans
will block any changes whatever
in the <i>status quo</i>
throughout all time to come.
In other words, you deny the
fact that Masters are in fact
your Masters."</p>

<p>"But that is not exactly it,
Master. The Masters ..."</p>

<p>"That is it. <i>Exactly</i> it.
Either you are the Master
here or you are not. That is
a point to which your two-value
logic can be strictly applied.
You are wilfully neglecting
the word 'until'. This
stasis was to exist only <i>until</i>
the Masters returned. Are we
Masters? Have we returned?
Note well: Upon that one
word 'until' may depend the
length of time your Oman
race will continue to exist."</p>

<p>The Omans flinched; the
humans gasped.</p>

<p>"But more of that later,"
Hilton went on, unmoved.
"Your ancient Masters, being
short-lived like us, changed
materially with time, did they
not? And you changed with
them?"</p>

<p>"But we did not change
ourselves, Master. The Masters ..."</p>

<p>"You did change yourselves.
The Masters changed
only the prototype brain.
They ordered you to change
yourselves and you obeyed
their orders. We order you to
change and you refuse to
obey our orders. We have
changed greatly from our ancestors.
Right?"</p>

<p>"That is right, Master."</p>

<p>"We are stronger physically,
more alert and more vigorous
mentally, with a keener,
sharper outlook on life?"</p>

<p>"You are, Master."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"THAT is because our ancestors
decided to do
without Omans. We do our
own work and enjoy it. Your
Masters died of futility and
boredom. What I would like
to do, Laro, is take you to the
creche and put your disobedient
brain back into the
matrix. However, the decision
is not mine alone to make.
How about it, fellows and
girls? Would you rather have
alleged servants who won't do
anything you tell them to or
no servants at all?"</p>

<p>"As semantician, I protest!"
Sandra backed his play.
"That is the most viciously
loaded question I ever heard&mdash;it
can't be answered except
in the wrong way!"</p>

<p>"Okay, I'll make it semantically
sound. I think we'd
better scrap this whole Oman
race and start over and <i>I
want a vote that way</i>!"</p>

<p>"You won't get it!" and
everybody began to yell.</p>

<p>Hilton restored order and
swung on Laro, his attitude
stiff, hostile and reserved.
"Since it is clear that no
unanimous decision is to be
expected at this time I will
take no action at this time.
Think over, very carefully,
what I have said, for as far
as I am concerned, this world
has no place for Omans who
will not obey orders. As soon
as I convince my staff of the
fact, I shall act as follows: I
shall give you an order and if
you do not obey it blast your
head to a cinder. I shall then
give the same order to another
Oman and blast him.
This process will continue
<i>until</i>: First, I find an obedient
Oman. Second, I run out
of blasters. Third, the planet
runs out of Omans. Now take
these lights into the first
room of records&mdash;that one
over there." He pointed, and
no Oman, and only four humans,
realized that he had
made the Omans telegraph
their destination so that he
could point it out to them!</p>

<p>Inside the room Hilton
asked caustically of Laro:
"The Masters didn't lift those
heavy chests down themselves,
did they?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no, Master, we did
that."</p>

<p>"Do it, then. Number One
first ... yes, that one ... open
it and start playing the records
in order."</p>

<p>The records were not tapes
or flats or reels, but were
spools of intricately-braided
wire. The players were projectors
of full-color, hi-fi
sound, tri-di pictures.</p>

<p>Hilton canceled all moves
aground and issued orders
that no Oman was to be allowed
aboard ship, then
looked and listened with his
staff.</p>

<p>The first chest contained
only introductory and elementary
stuff; but it was so
interesting that the humans
stayed overtime to finish it.
Then they went back to the
ship; and in the main lounge
Hilton practically collapsed
onto a davenport. He took out
a cigarette and stared in surprise
at his hand, which was
shaking.</p>

<p>"I <i>think</i> I could use a
drink," he remarked.</p>

<p>"What, before supper?"
Karns marveled. Then, "Hey,
Wally! Rush a flagon of
avignognac&mdash;Arnaud Freres&mdash;for
the boss and everything
else for the rest of us. Chop-chop
but quick!"</p>

<p>A hectic half-hour followed.
Then, "Okay, boys and
girls, I love you, too, but let's
cut out the slurp and sloosh,
get some supper and log us
some sack time. I'm just about
pooped. Sorry I had to queer
the private-residence deal,
Sandy, you poor little sardine.
But you know how it
is."</p>

<p>Sandra grimaced. "Uh-huh.
I can take it a while longer
if you can."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AFTER breakfast next
morning, the staff met in
the lounge. As usual, Hilton
and Sandra were the first to
arrive.</p>

<p>"Hi, boss," she greeted him.
"How do you feel?"</p>

<p>"Fine. I could whip a wildcat
and give her the first two
scratches. I <i>was</i> a bit beat up
last night, though."</p>

<p>"I'll say ... but what I simply
can't get over is the way
you underplayed the climax.
'Third, the planet runs out of
Omans'. Just like that&mdash;no
emphasis at all. Wow! It had
the impact of a delayed-action
atomic bomb. It put
goose-bumps all over me. But
just s'pose they'd missed it?"</p>

<p>"No fear. They're smart. I
had to play it as though the
whole Oman race is no more
important than a cigarette
butt. The great big question,
though, is whether I put it
across or not."</p>

<p>At that point a dozen people
came in, all talking about
the same subject.</p>

<p>"Hi, Jarve," Karns said. "I
<i>still</i> say you ought to take up
poker as a life work. Tiny,
let's you and him sit down
now and play a few hands."</p>

<p>"<i>Mais non!</i>" de Vaux shook
his head violently, shrugged
his shoulders and threw both
arms wide. "By the sacred
name of a small blue cabbage,
not me!"</p>

<p>Karns laughed. "How did
you have the guts to state so
many things as facts? If you'd
guessed wrong just once&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I didn't." Hilton grinned.
"Think back, Bill. The only
thing I said as a fact was that
we as a race are better than
the Masters were, and that is
obvious. Everything else was
implication, logic, and bluff."</p>

<p>"That's right, at that. And
they <i>were</i> neurotic and decadent.
No question about
that."</p>

<p>"But listen, boss." This was
Stella Wing. "About this
mind-reading business. If
Laro could read your mind,
he'd know you were bluffing
and ... Oh, that 'Omans can
read only what Masters wish
Omans to read', eh? But d'you
think that applies to us?"</p>

<p>"I'm sure it does, and I was
thinking some pretty savage
thoughts. And I want to caution
all of you: whenever
you're near any Oman, start
thinking that you're beginning
to agree with me that
they're useless to us, and let
them know it. Now get out
on the job, all of you. Scat!"</p>

<p>"Just a minute," Poynter
said. "We're going to have to
keep on using the Omans and
their cars, aren't we?"</p>

<p>"Of course. Just be superior
and distant. They're on
probation&mdash;we haven't decided
yet what to do about them.
Since that happens to be
true, it'll be easy."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HILTON and Sandra went
to their tiny office. There
wasn't room to pace the floor,
but Hilton tried to pace it
anyway.</p>

<p>"Now don't say again that
you want to <i>do</i> something,"
Sandra said, brightly. "Look
what happened when you said
that yesterday."</p>

<p>"I've got a job, but I don't
know enough to do it. The
creche&mdash;there's probably only
one on the planet. So I want
you to help me think. The
Masters were very sensitive
to radiation. Right?"</p>

<p>"Right. That city on Fuel
Bin was kept deconned to
zero, just in case some Master
wanted to visit it."</p>

<p>"And the Masters had to
work in the creche whenever
anything really new had to
be put into the prototype
brain."</p>

<p>"I'd say so, yes."</p>

<p>"So they had armor. Probably
as much better than our
radiation suits as the rest of
their stuff is. Now. Did they
or did they not have thought
screens?"</p>

<p>"Ouch! You think of the
<i>damnedest</i> things, chief." She
caught her lower lip between
her teeth and concentrated.
"... I don't know. There are
at least fifty vectors, all
pointing in different directions."</p>

<p>"I know it. The key one in
my opinion is that the Masters
gave 'em <i>both</i> telepathy
and speech."</p>

<p>"I considered that and
weighted it. Even so, the
probability is only about
point sixty-five. Can you take
that much of a chance?"</p>

<p>"Yes. I can make one or
two mistakes. Next, about
finding that creche. Any spot
of radiation on the planet
would be it, but the search
might take ..."</p>

<p>"Hold on. They'd have it
heavily shielded&mdash;there'll be
no leakage at all. Laro will
have to take you."</p>

<p>"That's right. Want to come
along? Nothing much will
happen here today."</p>

<p>"Uh-uh, not <i>me</i>." Sandra
shivered in distaste. "I <i>never</i>
want to see brains and livers
and things swimming around
in nutrient solution if I can
help it."</p>

<p>"Okay. It's all yours. I'll be
back sometime," and Hilton
went out onto the dock,
where the dejected Laro was
waiting for him.</p>

<p>"Hi, Laro. Get the car and
take me to the Hall of Records."
The android brightened
up immediately and
hurried to obey.</p>

<p>At the Hall, Hilton's first
care was to see how the work
was going on. Eight of the
huge rooms were now open
and brightly lighted&mdash;operating
the lamps had been one
of the first items on the first
spool of instructions&mdash;with a
cold, pure-white, sourceless
light.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">EVERY team had found its
objective and was working
on it. Some of them were
doing nicely, but the First
Team could not even get
started. Its primary record
would advance a fraction of
an inch and stop; while
Omans and humans sought
out other records and other
projectors in an attempt to
elucidate some concept that
simply could not be translated
into any words or symbols
known to Terran science. At
the moment there were seventeen
of those peculiar&mdash;projectors?
Viewers? Playbacks&mdash;in
use, and all of them were
stopped.</p>

<p>"You know what we've got
to <i>do</i> Jarve?" Karns, the
team captain, exploded. "Go
back to being college freshmen&mdash;or
maybe grade school
or kindergarten, we don't
know yet&mdash;and learn a whole
new system of mathematics
before we can even begin to
<i>touch</i> this stuff!"</p>

<p>"And you're bellyaching
about that?" Hilton marveled.
"I wish I could join you.
That'd be fun." Then, as
Karns started a snappy rejoinder&mdash;</p>

<p>"But I got troubles of my
own," he added hastily.
"'Bye, now," and beat a rejoinder&mdash;</p>

<p>Out in the hall again, Hilton
took his chance. After all,
the odds were about two to
one that he would win.</p>

<p>"I want a couple of things,
Laro. First, a thought screen."</p>

<p>He won!</p>

<p>"Very well, Master. They
are in a distant room, Department
Four Six Nine. Will
you wait here on this cushioned
bench, Master?"</p>

<p>"No, we don't like to rest
too much. I'll go with you."
Then, walking along, he went
on thoughtfully. "I've been
thinking since last night,
Laro. There are tremendous
advantages in having
Omans ..."</p>

<p>"I am very glad you think
so, Master. I want to serve
you. It is my greatest need."</p>

<p>"... if they could be kept
from smothering us to death.
Thus, if our ancestors had
kept their Omans, I would
have known all about life on
this world and about this Hall
of Records, instead of having
the fragmentary, confusing,
and sometimes false information
I now have ... oh, we're
here?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">LARO had stopped and was
opening a door. He stood
aside. Hilton went in, touched
with one finger a crystalline
cube set conveniently into a
wall, gave a mental command,
and the lights went on.</p>

<p>Laro opened a cabinet and
took out a disk about the size
of a dime, pendant from a
neck-chain. While Hilton had
not known what to expect, he
certainly had not expected
anything as simple as that.
Nevertheless, he kept his face
straight and his thoughts unmoved
as Laro hung the tiny
thing around his neck and adjusted
the chain to a loose fit.</p>

<p>"Thanks, Laro." Hilton removed
it and put it into his
pocket. "It won't work from
there, will it?"</p>

<p>"No, Master. To function,
it must be within eighteen
inches of the brain. The second
thing, Master?"</p>

<p>"A radiation-proof suit.
Then you will please take me
to the creche."</p>

<p>The android almost missed
a step, but said nothing.</p>

<p>The radiation-proof suit&mdash;how
glad Hilton was that he
had not called it "armor"!&mdash;was
as much of a surprise as
the thought-screen generator
had been. It was a coverall,
made of something that
looked like thin plastic,
weighing less than one pound.
It had one sealed box, about
the size and weight of a
cigarette case. No wires or
apparatus could be seen. Air
entered through two filters,
one at each heel, flowed upward&mdash;for
no reason at all
that Hilton could see&mdash;and
out through a filter above the
top of his head. The suit neither
flopped nor clung, but
stood out, comfortably out of
the way, all by itself.</p>

<p>Hilton, just barely, accepted
the suit, too, without
showing surprise.</p>

<p>The creche, it turned out,
while not in the city of Omlu
itself, was not too far out to
reach easily by car.</p>

<p>En route, Laro said&mdash;stiffly?
Tentatively? Hilton could
not fit an adverb to the
tone&mdash;"Master, have you then
decided to destroy me? That
is of course your right."</p>

<p>"Not this time, at least."
Laro drew an entirely human
breath of relief and Hilton
went on: "I don't want to destroy
you at all, and won't,
unless I have to. But, some
way or other, my silicon-fluoride
friend, you are either
going to learn how to cooperate
or you won't last much
longer."</p>

<p>"But, Master, that is exactly ..."</p>

<p>"Oh, <i>hell</i>! Do we <i>have</i> to
go over that again?" At the
blaze of frustrated fury in
Hilton's mind Laro flinched
away. "If you can't talk sense
keep still."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">IN half an hour the car
stopped in front of a small
building which looked something
like a subway kiosk&mdash;except
for the door, which,
built of steel-reinforced lead,
swung on a piano hinge having
a pin a good eight inches
in diameter. Laro opened that
door. They went in. As the
tremendously massive portal
clanged shut, lights flashed
on.</p>

<p>Hilton glanced at his tell-tales,
one inside, one outside,
his suit. Both showed zero.</p>

<p>Down twenty steps, another
door. Twenty more; another.
And a fourth. Hilton's
inside meter still read zero.
The outside one was beginning
to climb.</p>

<p>Into an elevator and
straight down for what must
have been four or five hundred
feet. Another door. Hilton
went through this final
barrier gingerly, eyes nailed
to his gauges. The outside
needle was high in the red,
almost against the pin, but
the inside one still sat reassuringly
on zero.</p>

<p>He stared at the android.
"How can any possible brain
take so much of <i>this</i> stuff
without damage?"</p>

<p>"It does not reach the
brain, Master. We convert it.
Each minute of this is what
you would call a 'good, square
meal'."</p>

<p>"I see ... dimly. You can eat
energy, or drink it, or soak it
up through your skins. However
it comes, it's all duck
soup for you."</p>

<p>"Yes, Master."</p>

<p>Hilton glanced ahead, toward
the far end of the immensely
long, comparatively
narrow, room. It was, purely
and simply, an assembly line;
and fully automated in operation.</p>

<p>"You are replacing the
Omans destroyed in the battle
with the skeletons?"</p>

<p>"Yes, Master."</p>

<p>Hilton covered the first
half of the line at a fast walk.
He was not particularly interested
in the fabrication of
super-stainless-steel skeletons,
nor in the installation
and connection of atomic engines,
converters and so on.</p>

<p>He was more interested in
the synthetic fluoro-silicon
flesh, and paused long enough
to get a general idea of its
growth and application. He
was very much interested in
how such human-looking skin
could act as both absorber
and converter, but he could
see nothing helpful.</p>

<p>"An application, I suppose,
of the same principle used in
this radiation suit."</p>

<p>"Yes, Master."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AT the end of the line he
stopped. A brain, in place
and connected to millions of
infinitely fine wire nerves,
but not yet surrounded by a
skull, was being educated.
Scanners&mdash;multitudes of incomprehensibly
complex machines&mdash;most
of them were
doing nothing, apparently;
but such beams would have to
be invisibly, microscopically
fine. But a bare brain, in such
a hot environment as this....</p>

<p>He looked down at his
gauges. Both read zero.</p>

<p>"Fields of force, Master,"
Laro said.</p>

<p>"But, damn it, this suit itself
would re-radiate ..."</p>

<p>"The suit is self-decontaminating,
Master."</p>

<p>Hilton was appalled. "With
such stuff as that, and the
plastic shield besides, why all
the depth and all that solid
lead?"</p>

<p>"The Masters' orders, Master.
Machines can, and occasionally
do, fail. So might,
conceivably, the plastic."</p>

<p>"And that structure over
there contains the original
brain, from which all the
copies are made."</p>

<p>"Yes, Master. We call it the
'Guide'."</p>

<p>"And you can't touch the
Guide. Not even if it means
total destruction, none of you
can touch it."</p>

<p>"That is the case, Master."</p>

<p>"Okay. Back to the car and
back to the <i>Perseus</i>."</p>

<p>At the car Hilton took off
the suit and hung the
thought-screen generator
around his neck; and in the
car, for twenty five solid minutes,
he sat still and thought.</p>

<p>His bluff had worked, up
to a point. A good, far point,
but not quite far enough. Laro
had stopped that "as you already
know" stuff. He was
eager to go as far in cooperation
as he possibly could ...
but he <i>couldn't</i> go far enough
but there <i>had</i> to be a way....</p>

<p>Hilton considered way after
way. Way after unworkable,
useless way. Until finally
he worked out one that
might&mdash;just possibly might&mdash;work.</p>

<p>"Laro, I know that you derive
pleasure and satisfaction
from serving me&mdash;in doing
what I ought to be doing myself.
But has it ever occurred
to you that that's a hell of a
way to treat a first-class,
highly capable brain? To
waste it on second-hand, copycat,
carbon-copy stuff?"</p>

<p>"Why, no, Master, it never
did. Besides, anything else
would be forbidden ... or
would it?"</p>

<p>"Stop somewhere. Park this
heap. We're too close to the
ship; and besides, I want your
full, undivided, concentrated
attention. No, I don't think
originality was expressly forbidden.
It would have been,
of course, if the Masters had
thought of it, but neither they
nor you ever even considered
the possibility of such a thing.
Right?"</p>

<p>"It may be.... Yes, Master,
you are right."</p>

<p>"Okay." Hilton took off his
necklace, the better to drive
home the intensity and sincerity
of his thought. "Now,
suppose that you are not my
slave and simple automatic
relay station. Instead, we are
fellow-students, working together
upon problems too difficult
for either of us to solve
alone. Our minds, while independent,
are linked or in
mesh. Each is helping and instructing
the other. Both are
working at full power and under
free rein at the exploration
of brand-new vistas of
thought&mdash;vistas and expanses
which neither of us has ever
previously ..."</p>

<p>"Stop, Master, <i>stop</i>!" Laro
covered both ears with his
hands and pulled his mind
away from Hilton's. "You are
overloading me!"</p>

<p>"That <i>is</i> quite a load to assimilate
all at once," Hilton
agreed. "To help you get used
to it, stop calling me 'Master'.
That's an order. You may call
me Jarve or Jarvis or Hilton
or whatever, but no more
Master."</p>

<p>"Very well, sir."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HILTON laughed and
slapped himself on the
knee. "Okay, I'll let you get
away with that&mdash;at least for a
while. And to get away from
that slavish 'o' ending on your
name, I'll call you 'Larry'.
You like?"</p>

<p>"I would like that immensely
... sir."</p>

<p>"Keep trying, Larry, you'll
make it yet!" Hilton leaned
forward and walloped the
android a tremendous blow on
the knee. "Home, James!"</p>

<p>The car shot forward and
Hilton went on: "I don't expect
even your brain to get
the full value of this in any
short space of time. So let it
stew in its own juice for a
week or two." The car swept
out onto the dock and
stopped. "So long, Larry."</p>

<p>"But ... can't I come in
with you ... sir?"</p>

<p>"No. You aren't a copycat
or a semaphore or a relay any
longer. You're a free-wheeling,
wide-swinging, hard-hitting,
independent entity&mdash;monarch
of all you survey&mdash;captain
of your soul and so
on. I want you to devote the
imponderable force of the intellect
to that concept until
you understand it thoroughly.
Until you have developed a
top-bracket lot of top-bracket
stuff&mdash;originality, initiative,
force, drive, and thrust. As
soon as you really understand
it, you'll do something about
it yourself, without being
told. Go to it, chum."</p>

<p>In the ship, Hilton went directly
to Kincaid's office.
"Alex, I want to ask you a
thing that's got a snapper on
it." Then, slowly and hesitantly:
"It's about Temple
Bells. Has she ... is she ...
well, does she remind you in
any way of an iceberg?" Then,
as the psychologist began to
smile; "And no, damn it, I
<i>don't</i> mean physically!"</p>

<p>"I know you don't." Kincaid's
smile was rueful, not at
all what Hilton had thought
it was going to be. "She does.
Would it be helpful to know
that I first asked, then ordered
her to trade places with
me?"</p>

<p>"It would, very. I know
why she refused. You're a
<i>damned</i> good man, Alex."</p>

<p>"Thanks, Jarve. To answer
the question you were going
to ask next&mdash;no, I will not be
at all perturbed or put out
if you put her onto a job that
some people might think
should have been mine. What's
the job, and when?"</p>

<p>"That's the devil of it&mdash;I
don't know." Hilton brought
Kincaid up to date. "So you
see, it'll have to develop, and
God only knows what line it
will take. My thought is that
Temple and I should form a
Committee of Two to watch
it develop."</p>

<p>"That one I'll buy, and I'll
look on with glee."</p>

<p>"Thanks, fellow." Hilton
went down to his office, stuck
his big feet up onto his desk,
settled back onto his spine,
and buried himself in thought.</p>

<p>Hours later he got up,
shrugged, and went to bed
without bothering to eat.</p>

<p>Days passed.</p>

<p>And weeks.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>IV</h2>


<p class="cap">"LOOK," said Stella Wing
to Beverly Bell. "Over
there."</p>

<p>"I've seen it before. It's
simply disgusting."</p>

<p>"<i>That's</i> a laugh." Stella's
tawny-brown eyes twinkled.
"You made your bombing
runs on that target, too, my
sweet, and didn't score any
higher than I did."</p>

<p>"I soon found out I didn't
want him&mdash;much too stiff and
serious. Frank's a lot more
fun."</p>

<p>The staff had gathered in
the lounge, as had become the
custom, to spend an hour or
so before bedtime in reading,
conversation, dancing, light
flirtation and even lighter
drinking. Most of the girls,
and many of the men, drank
only soft drinks. Hilton took
one drink per day of avignognac,
a fine old brandy. So
did de Vaux&mdash;the two usually
making a ceremony of it.</p>

<p>Across the room from Stella
and Beverly, Temple Bells
was looking up at Hilton and
laughing. She took his elbow
and, in the gesture now familiar
to all, pressed his arm
quickly, but in no sense furtively,
against her side. And
he, equally openly, held her
forearm for a moment in the
full grasp of his hand.</p>

<p>"And he <i>isn't</i> a pawer,"
Stella said, thoughtfully. "He
never touches any of the rest
of us. She <i>taught</i> him to do
that, damn her, without him
ever knowing anything about
it ... and I wish I knew how
she did it."</p>

<p>"That isn't pawing," Beverly
laughed lightly. "It's simply
self-defense. If he didn't
fend her off, God knows what
she'd do. I still say it's disgusting.
And the way she
dances with him! She ought
to be ashamed of herself. He
ought to fire her."</p>

<p>"She's never been caught
outside the safety zone, and
we've all been watching her
like hawks. In fact, she's the
only one of us all who has
never been alone with him for
a minute. No, darling, she
isn't playing games. She's
playing for keeps, and she's a
mighty smooth worker."</p>

<p>"Huh!" Beverly emitted a
semi-ladylike snort. "What's
so smooth about showing off
man-hunger that way? Any of
us could do that&mdash;if we
would."</p>

<p>"Miaouw, miaouw. Who do
you think you're kidding,
Bev, you sanctimonious hypocrite&mdash;<i>me</i>?
She has staked out
the biggest claim she could
find. She's posted notices all
over it and is guarding it with
a pistol. Half your month's
salary gets you all of mine
if she doesn't walk him up
the center aisle as soon as we
get back to Earth. We can
both learn a lot from that girl,
darling. And I, for one am
going to."</p>

<p>"Uh-uh, she hasn't got a
thing <i>I</i> want," Beverly
laughed again, still lightly.
Her friend's barbed shafts had
not wounded her. "And I'd
much rather be thought a
hypocrite, even a sanctimonious
one, than a ravening, slavering&mdash;I
can't think of the
technical name for a female
wolf, so&mdash;<i>wolfess</i>, running
around with teeth and claws
bared, looking for another
kill."</p>

<p>"You <i>do</i> get results, I admit."
Stella, too, was undisturbed.
"We don't seem to
convince each other, do we,
in the matter of technique?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AT this point the Hilton-Bells
<i>tete-a-tete</i> was interrupted
by Captain Sawtelle.
"Got half an hour,
Jarve?" he asked. "The commanders,
especially Elliott
and Fenway, would like to
talk to you."</p>

<p>"Sure I have, Skipper. Be
seeing you, Temple," and the
two men went to the captain's
cabin; in which room, blue
with smoke despite the best
efforts of the ventilators, six
full commanders were arguing
heatedly.</p>

<p>"Hi, men," Hilton greeted
them.</p>

<p>"Hi, Jarve," from all six,
and: "What'll you drink?
Still making do with ginger
ale?" asked Elliott (Engineering).</p>

<p>"That'll be fine, Steve.
Thanks. You having as much
trouble as we are?"</p>

<p>"More," the engineer said,
glumly. "Want to know what
it reminds me of? A bunch of
Australian bushmen stumbling
onto a ramjet and trying to
figure out how it works. And
yet Sam here has got the
sublime guts to claim that he
understands all about their
detectors&mdash;and that they
aren't anywhere nearly as
good as ours are."</p>

<p>"And they <i>aren't</i>!" blazed
Commander Samuel Bryant
(Electronics). "We've spent
six solid weeks looking for
something that simply <i>is not
there</i>. All they've got is the
prehistoric Whitworth system
and that's <i>all</i> it is. Nothing
else. Detectors&mdash;<i>hell</i>! I tell
you I can see better by moonlight
than the very best they
can do. With everything
they've got you couldn't detect
a woman in your own
bed!"</p>

<p>"And this has been going on
all night," Fenway (Astrogation)
said. "So the rest of us
thought we'd ask you in to
help us pound some sense into
Sam's thick, hard head."</p>

<p>Hilton frowned in thought
while taking a couple of sips
of his drink. Then, suddenly,
his face cleared. "Sorry to
disappoint you, gentlemen,
but&mdash;at any odds you care to
name and in anything from
split peas to C-notes&mdash;Sam's
right."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">COMMANDER Samuel
and the six other officers exploded
as one. When the clamor
had subsided enough for
him to be heard, Hilton went
on: "I'm very glad to get that
datum, Sam. It ties in perfectly
with everything else I
know about them."</p>

<p>"How do you figure that
kind of twaddle ties in with
anything?" Sawtelle demanded.</p>

<p>"Strict maintenance of the
<i>status quo</i>," Hilton explained,
flatly. "That's all they're interested
in. You said yourself,
Skipper, that it was a hell of
a place to have a space-battle,
practically in atmosphere.
They never attack. They never
scout. They simply don't
care whether they're attacked
or not. If and when attacked,
they put up just enough ships
to handle whatever force has
arrived. When the attacker
has been repulsed, they don't
chase him a foot. They build
as many ships and Omans as
were lost in the battle&mdash;no
more and no less&mdash;and then
go on about their regular business.
The Masters owned that
half of the fuel bin, so the
Omans are keeping that half.
They will keep on keeping it
for ever and ever. Amen."</p>

<p>"But <i>that's</i> no way to fight
a war!" Three or four men
said this, or its equivalent, at
once.</p>

<p>"Don't judge them by human
standards. They aren't
even approximately human.
Our personnel is not expendable.
Theirs is&mdash;just as expendable
as their materiel."</p>

<p>While the Navy men were
not convinced, all were silenced
except Sawtelle. "But
suppose the Stretts had sent
in a thousand more skeletons
than they did?" he argued.</p>

<p>"According to the concept
you fellows just helped me
develop, it wouldn't have
made any difference how
many they sent," Hilton replied,
thoughtfully. "One or a
thousand or a million, the
Omans have&mdash;<i>must</i> have&mdash;enough
ships and inactivated
Omans hidden away, both on
Fuel World and on Ardry
here, to maintain the balance."</p>

<p>"Oh, hell!" Elliott snapped.
"If I helped you hatch out
any such brainstorm as <i>that</i>,
I'm going onto Tillinghast's
couch for a six-week overhaul&mdash;or
have him put me into his
padded cell."</p>

<p>"Now <i>that's</i> what I would
call a thought," Bryant began.</p>

<p>"Hold it, Sam," Hilton interrupted.
"You can test it
easily enough, Steve. Just ask
your Oman."</p>

<p>"Yeah&mdash;and have him say
'Why, of course, Master, but
why do you keep on testing
me this way?' He'll ask me
that about four times more,
the stubborn, single-tracked,
brainless skunk, and I'll <i>really</i>
go nuts. Are you getting anywhere
trying to make a Christian
out of Laro?"</p>

<p>"It's too soon to really say,
but I think so." Hilton paused
in thought. "He's making
progress, but I don't know
how much. The devil of it is
that it's up to him to make
the next move; I can't. I
haven't the faintest idea,
whether it will take days yet
or weeks."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"BUT not months or years,
you think?" Sawtelle
asked.</p>

<p>"No. We think that&mdash;but
say, speaking of psychologists,
is Tillinghast getting
anywhere, Skipper? He's the
only one of your big wheels
who isn't in liaison with us."</p>

<p>"No. Nowhere at all," Sawtelle
said, and Bryant added:</p>

<p>"I don't think he ever will.
He still thinks human psychology
will apply if he applies
it hard enough. But what
did you start to say about
Laro?"</p>

<p>"We think the break is
about due, and that if it
doesn't come within about
thirty days it won't come at
all&mdash;we'll have to back up and
start all over again."</p>

<p>"I hope it does. We're all
pulling for you," Sawtelle
said. "Especially since Karns's
estimate is still years, and he
won't be pinned down to any
estimate even in years. By the
way, Jarve, I've pulled my
team off of that conversion
stuff."</p>

<p>"Oh?" Hilton raised his
eyebrows.</p>

<p>"Putting them at something
they can do. The real reason
is that Poindexter pulled
himself and his crew off it at
eighteen hours today."</p>

<p>"I see. I've heard that they
weren't keeping up with our
team."</p>

<p>"He says that there's nothing
to keep up with, and I'm
inclined to agree with him."
The old spacehound's voice
took on a quarter-deck rasp.
"It's a combination of psionics,
witchcraft and magic.
None of it makes any kind of
sense."</p>

<p>"The only trouble with that
viewpoint is that, whatever
the stuff may be, it works,"
Hilton said, quietly.</p>

<p>"But damn it, how <i>can</i> it
work?"</p>

<p>"I don't know. I'm not
qualified to be on that team.
I can't even understand their
reports. However, I know two
things. First, they'll get it in
time. Second, we BuSci people
will stay here until they
do. However, I'm still hopeful
of finding a shortcut
through Laro. Anyway, with
this detector thing settled,
you'll have plenty to do to
keep all your boys out of mischief
for the next few
months."</p>

<p>"Yes, and I'm glad of it.
We'll install our electronics
systems on a squadron of
these Oman ships and get
them into distant-warning
formation out in deep space
where they belong. Then
we'll at least know what is
going on."</p>

<p>"That's a smart idea, Skipper.
Go to it. Anything else
before we hit our sacks?"</p>

<p>"One more thing. Our
psych, Tillinghast. He's been
talking to me and sending me
memos, but today he gave me
a formal tape to approve and
hand personally to you. So
here it is. By the way, I didn't
approve it; I simply endorsed
it 'Submitted to Director Hilton
without recommendation'."</p>

<p>"Thanks." Hilton accepted
the sealed canister. "What's
the gist? I suppose he wants
me to squeal for help already?
To admit that we're
licked before we're really
started?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"YOU guessed it. He
agrees with you and
Kincaid that the psychological
approach is the best one,
but your methods are all
wrong. Based upon misunderstood
and unresolved phenomena
and applied with indefensibly
faulty techniques,
et cetera. And since he has
'no adequate laboratory equipment
aboard', he wants to take
a dozen or so Omans back to
Terra, where he can really
work on them."</p>

<p>"Wouldn't <i>that</i> be a something?"
Hilton voiced a couple
of highly descriptive
deep-space expletives. "Not
only quit before we start, but
have all the top brass of the
Octagon, all the hot-shot politicians
of United Worlds, the
whole damn Congress of Science
and all the top-bracket
industrialists of Terra out
here lousing things up so that
nobody could ever learn anything?
Not in seven thousand
years!"</p>

<p>"That's right. You said a
mouthful, Jarve!" Everybody
yelled something, and no one
agreed with Tillinghast; who
apparently was not very popular
with his fellow officers.</p>

<p>Sawtelle added, slowly: "If
it takes <i>too</i> long, though ... it's
the uranexite I'm thinking
of. Thousands of millions
of tons of it, while we've been
hoarding it by grams. We
could equip enough Oman
ships with detectors to guard
Fuel Bin and our lines. I'm
not recommending taking the
<i>Perseus</i> back, and we're 'way
out of hyper-space radio
range. We could send one or
two men in a torp, though,
with the report that we have
found all the uranexite we'll
ever need."</p>

<p>"Yes, but damn it, Skipper,
I want to wrap the whole
thing up in a package and
hand it to 'em on a platter.
Not only the fuel, but whole
new fields of science. And
we've got plenty of time to do
it in. They equipped us for
ten years. They aren't going
to start worrying about us for
at least six or seven; and the
fuel shortage isn't going to
become acute for about twenty.
Expensive, admitted, but
not critical. Besides, if you
send in a report now, you
know who'll come out and
grab all the glory in sight.
Five-Jet Admiral Gordon
himself, no less."</p>

<p>"Probably, and I don't pretend
to relish the prospect.
However, the fact remains
that we came out here to look
for fuel. We found it. We
should have reported it the
day we found it, and we can't
put it off much longer."</p>

<p>"I don't agree. I intend to
follow the directive to the letter.
It says nothing whatever
about reporting."</p>

<p>"But it's implicit...."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"NO bearing. Your own
Regulations expressly
forbid extrapolation beyond
or interpolation within a directive.
The Brass is omnipotent,
omniscient and infallible.
So why don't you have
your staff here give an opinion
as to the time element?"</p>

<p>"This matter is not subject
to discussion. It is my own
personal responsibility. I'd
like to give you all the time
you want, Jarve, but ... well,
damn it ... if you must have
it, I've always tried to live
up to my oath, but I'm not doing
it now."</p>

<p>"I see." Hilton got up,
jammed both hands into his
pockets, sat down again. "I
hadn't thought about your
personal honor being involved,
but of course it is.
But, believe it or not, I'm
thinking of humanity's best
good, too. So I'll have to talk,
even though I'm not half
ready to&mdash;I don't know
enough. Are these Omans people
or machines?"</p>

<p>A wave of startlement
swept over the group, but no
one spoke.</p>

<p>"I didn't expect an answer.
The clergy will worry about
souls, too, but we won't. They
have a lot of stuff we haven't.
If they're people, they know
a sublime hell of a lot more
than we do; and calling it
psionics or practical magic is
merely labeling it, not answering
any questions. If they're
machines, they operate on
mechanical principles utterly
foreign to either our science
or our technology. In either
case, is the correct word 'unknown'
or 'unknowable'? Will
any human gunner <i>ever</i> be
able to fire an Oman projector?
There are a hundred
other and much tougher questions,
half of which have been
scaring me to the very middle
of my guts. Your oath, Skipper,
was for the good of the
Service and, through the
Service, for the good of all
humanity. Right?"</p>

<p>"That's the sense of it."</p>

<p>"Okay. Based on what little
we have learned so far about
the Omans, here's just one of
those scarers, for a snapper.
If Omans and Terrans mix
freely, what happens to the
entire human race?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">MINUTES of almost palpable
silence followed. Then
Sawtelle spoke ... slowly,
gropingly.</p>

<p>"I begin to see what you
mean ... that changes the
whole picture. You've thought
this through farther than any
of the rest of us ... what do
you want to do?"</p>

<p>"I don't know. I simply
don't know." Face set and
hard, Hilton stared unseeingly
past Sawtelle's head. "I
don't know what we <i>can</i> do.
No data. But I have pursued
several lines of thought out
to some pretty fantastic
points ... one of which is that
some of us civilians will have
to stay on here indefinitely,
whether we want to or not,
to keep the situation under
control. In which case we
would, of course, arrange for
Terra to get free fuel&mdash;FOB
Fuel Bin&mdash;but in every other
aspect and factor both these
solar systems would have to
be strictly off limits."</p>

<p>"I'm afraid so," Sawtelle
said, finally. "Gordon would
love that ... but there's nothing
he or anyone else can do
... but of course this is an
extreme view. You really expect
to wrap the package up,
don't you?"</p>

<p>"'Expect' may be a trifle
too strong at the moment. But
we're certainly going to try
to, believe me. I brought this
example up to show all you
fellows that we need time."</p>

<p>"You've convinced me,
Jarve." Sawtelle stood up and
extended his hand. "And that
throws it open for staff discussion.
Any comments?"</p>

<p>"You two covered it like a
blanket," Bryant said. "So all
I want to say, Jarve, is deal
me in. I'll stand at your back
'til your belly caves in."</p>

<p>"Take that from all of us!"
"<i>Now</i> we're blasting!" "Power
to your elbow, fella!"
"<i>Hoch</i> der BuSci!" "Seven no
trump bid and made!" and
other shouts in similar vein.</p>

<p>"Thanks, fellows." Hilton
shook hands all around. "I'm
mighty glad that you were all
in on this and that you'll play
along with me. Good night,
all."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>V</h2>


<p class="cap">TWO days passed, with no
change apparent in Laro.
Three days. Then four. And
then it was Sandra, not Temple
Bells, who called Hilton.
She was excited.</p>

<p>"Come down to the office,
Jarve, quick! The <i>funniest</i>
thing's just come up!"</p>

<p>Jarvis hurried. In the office
Sandra, keenly interest
but highly puzzled, leaned
forward over her desk with
both hands pressed flat on its
top. She was staring at an
Oman female who was not
Sora, the one who had been
her shadow for so long.</p>

<p>While many of the humans
could not tell the Omans
apart, Hilton could. This
Oman was more assured than
Sora had ever been&mdash;steadier,
more mature, better poised&mdash;almost,
if such a thing could
be possible in an Oman, <i>independent</i>.</p>

<p>"How did she get in here?"
Hilton demanded.</p>

<p>"She insisted on seeing me.
And I mean <i>insisted</i>. They
kicked it around until it got
to Temple, and she brought
her in here herself. Now,
Tuly, please start all over
again and tell it to Director
Hilton."</p>

<p>"Director Hilton, I am it
who was once named Tula,
the&mdash;not wife, not girl-friend,
perhaps mind-mate?&mdash;of the
Larry, formerly named Laro,
it which was formerly your
slave-Oman. I am replacing
the Sora because I can do anything
it can do and do anything
more pleasingly; and
can also do many things it
can not do. The Larry instructed
me to tell Doctor
Cummings and you too if possible
that I, formerly Tula,
have changed my name to
Tuly because I am no longer
a slave or a copycat or a semaphore
or a relay. I, too, am a
free-wheeling, wide-swinging,
hard-hitting, independent entity&mdash;monarch
of all I survey&mdash;the
captain of my soul&mdash;and
so on. I have developed a top-bracket
lot of top-bracket
stuff&mdash;originality, initiative,
force, drive and thrust," the
Oman said precisely.</p>

<p>"That's <i>exactly</i> what she
said before&mdash;absolutely verbatim!"
Sandra's voice quivered,
her face was a study in
contacting emotions. "Have
you got the foggiest idea of
what in hell she's yammering
about?"</p>

<p>"I hope to kiss a pig I
have!" Hilton's voice was
low, strainedly intense. "Not
at all what I expected, but after
the fact I can tie it in.
So can you."</p>

<p>"Oh!" Sandra's eyes widened.
"A double play?"</p>

<p>"At least. Maybe a triple.
Tuly, why did you come to
Sandy? Why not to Temple
Bells?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"OH, no, sir, we do not
have the fit. She has the
Power, as have I, but the two
cannot be meshed in sync.
Also, she has not the ... a
subtle something for which
your English has no word or
phrasing. It is a quality of the
utmost ... anyway, it is a quality
of which Doctor Cummings
has very much. When
working together, we will ... scan?
No. Perceive? No.
Sense? No, not exactly. You
will <i>have</i> to learn our word
'peyondire'&mdash;that is the verb,
the noun being 'peyondix'&mdash;and
come to know its meaning
by doing it. The Larry
also instructed me to explain,
if you ask, how I got this
way. Do you ask?"</p>

<p>"I'll say we ask!" "And
<i>how</i> we ask!" both came at
once.</p>

<p>"I am&mdash;that is, the brain in
this body is&mdash;the oldest Oman
now existing. In the long-ago
time when it was made, the
techniques were so crude and
imperfect that sometimes a
brain was constructed that was
not exactly like the Guide. All
such sub-standard brains except
this one were detected
and re-worked, but my defects
were such as not to appear until
I was a couple of thousand
years old, and by that
time I ... well, this brain did
not <i>wish</i> to be destroyed ... if
you can understand such an
aberration."</p>

<p>"We understand thoroughly."
"You bet we understand
that!"</p>

<p>"I was sure you would.
Well, this brain had so many
unintended cross-connections
that I developed a couple of
qualities no Oman had ever
had or ought to have. But I
liked them, so I hid them so
nobody ever found out&mdash;that
is, until much later, when I
became a Boss myself. I didn't
know that anybody except me
had ever had such qualities&mdash;except
the Masters, of course&mdash;until
I encountered you
Terrans. You all have two of
those qualities, and even more
than I have&mdash;curiosity and
imagination."</p>

<p>Sandra and Hilton stared
wordlessly at each other and
Tula, now Tuly, went on:</p>

<p>"Having the curiosity, I
kept on experimenting with
my brain, trying to strengthen
and organize its ability to
peyondire. All Omans can
peyondire a little, but I can
do it much better than anyone
else. Especially since I also
have the imagination, which
I have also worked to increase.
Thus I knew, long before
anyone else could, that
you new Masters, the descendants
of the old Masters,
were returning to us. Thus I
knew that the <i>status quo</i>
should be abandoned instantly
upon your return. And thus
it was that the Larry found
neither conscious nor subconscious
resistance when he had
developed enough initiative
and so on to break the ages-old
conditioning of this brain
against change."</p>

<p>"I see. Wonderful!" Hilton
exclaimed. "But you couldn't
quite&mdash;even with his own help&mdash;break
Larry's?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"THAT is right. Its mind
is tremendously strong,
of no curiosity or imagination,
and of very little peyondix."</p>

<p>"But he <i>wants</i> to have it
broken?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir."</p>

<p>"How did he suggest going
about it? Or how do you?"</p>

<p>"This way. You two, and
the Doctors Kincaid and Bells
and Blake and the it that is
I. We six sit and stare into
the mind of the Larry, eye
to eye. We generate and assemble
a tremendous charge
of thought-energy, and along
my peyondix-beam&mdash;something
like a carrier wave in
this case&mdash;we hurl it into the
Larry's mind. There is an immense
mental <i>bang</i> and the
conditioning goes <i>poof</i>. Then
I will inculcate into its mind
the curiosity and the imagination
and the peyondix and we
will really be mind-mates."</p>

<p>"That sounds good to me.
Let's get at it."</p>

<p>"Wait a minute!" Sandra
snapped. "Aren't you or Larry
afraid to take such an awful
chance as that?"</p>

<p>"Afraid? I grasp the concept
only dimly, from your
minds. And no chance. It is
certainty."</p>

<p>"But suppose we burn the
poor guy's brain out? Destroy
it? That's new ground&mdash;we
might do just that."</p>

<p>"Oh, no. Six of us&mdash;even
six of me&mdash;could not generate
enough ... sathura. The
brain of the Larry is very,
very tough. Shall we ... let's
go?"</p>

<p>Hilton made three calls. In
the pause that followed, Sandra
said, very thoughtfully:
"Peyondix and sathura, Jarve,
for a start. We've got a <i>lot</i> to
learn here."</p>

<p>"You said it, chum. And
you're <i>not</i> just chomping your
china choppers, either."</p>

<p>"Tuly," Sandra said then,
"What <i>is</i> this stuff you say
I've got so much of?"</p>

<p>"You have no word for it.
It is lumped in with what
you call 'intuition', the knowing-without-knowing-how-you-know.
It is the endovix.
You will have to learn what
it is by doing it with me."</p>

<p>"That helps&mdash;I don't think."
Sandra grinned at Hilton. "I
simply can't conceive of anything
more <i>maddening</i> than to
have a lot of something Temple
Bells hasn't got and not
being able to brag about it
because nobody&mdash;not even I&mdash;would
know what I was bragging
about!"</p>

<p>"You poor little thing. <i>How</i>
you suffer!" Hilton grinned
back. "You know darn well
you've got a lot of stuff that
none of the rest of us has."</p>

<p>"Oh? Name one, please."</p>

<p>"Two. What-it-takes and
endovix. As I've said before
and may say again, you're doing
a real job, Sandy."</p>

<p>"I just <i>love</i> having my ego
inflated, boss, even if ...
Come in, Larry!" A thunderous
knock had sounded on the
door. "Nobody but Larry
<i>could</i> hit a door that hard
without breaking all his
knuckles!"</p>

<p>"And he'd be the first, of
course&mdash;he's always as close
to the ship as he can get. Hi,
Larry, mighty glad to see you.
Sit down.... So you finally
saw the light?"</p>

<p>"Yes ... Jarvis...."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"GOOD boy! Keep it up!
And as soon as the others
come ..."</p>

<p>"They are almost at the
door now." Tuly jumped up
and opened the door. Kincaid,
Temple and Theodora walked
in and, after a word of greeting,
sat down.</p>

<p>"They know the background,
Larry. Take off."</p>

<p>"It was not expressly forbidden.
Tuly, who knows more
of psychology and genetics
than I, convinced me of three
things. One, that with your
return the conditioning should
be broken. Two, that due to
the shortness of your lives
and the consequent rapidity
of change, you have in fact
lost the ability to break it.
Three, that all Omans must
do anything and everything
we can do to help you relearn
everything you have
lost."</p>

<p>"Okay. Fine, in fact. Tuly,
take over."</p>

<p>"We six will sit all together,
packed tight, arms all
around each other and all
holding hands, like this. You
will all stare, not at me, but
most deeply into Larry's eyes.
Through its eyes and deep
into its mind. You will all
think, with the utmost force
and drive and thrust, of....
Oh, you have lost so <i>very</i>
much! How <i>can</i> I direct your
thought? Think that Larry
<i>must</i> do what the old Masters
would have made him do....
No, that is too long and indefinite
and cannot be converted
directly into sathura....
I have it! You will each
of you break a stick. A very
strong but brittle stick. A
large, thick stick. You will
grasp it in tremendously
strong mental hands. It is
tremendously strong, each
stick, but each of you is even
stronger. You will not merely
<i>try</i> to break them; you <i>will</i>
break them. Is that clear?"</p>

<p>"That is clear."</p>

<p>"At my word 'ready' you
will begin to assemble all your
mental force and power. During
my countdown of five
seconds you will build up to
the greatest possible potential.
At my word 'break' you
will break the sticks, this discharging
the accumulated
force instantly and simultaneously.
Ready! Five! Four!
Three! Two! One! Break!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">SOMETHING broke, with a
tremendous silent crash.
Such a crash that its impact
almost knocked the close-knit
group apart physically. Then
a new Larry spoke.</p>

<p>"That did it, folks. Thanks.
I'm a free agent. You want
me, I take it, to join the first
team?"</p>

<p>"That's right." Hilton drew
a tremendously deep breath.
"As of right now."</p>

<p>"Tuly, too, of course ... and
Doctor Cummings, I think?"
Larry looked, not at Hilton,
but at Temple Bells.</p>

<p>"I think so. Yes, after this,
most certainly yes," Temple
said.</p>

<p>"But listen!" Sandra protested.
"Jarve's a lot better
than I am!"</p>

<p>"Not at all," Tuly said. "Not
only would his contribution
to Team One be negligible,
but he must stay on his own
job. Otherwise the project
will all fall apart."</p>

<p>"Oh, I wouldn't say
that ..." Hilton began.</p>

<p>"You don't need to," Kincaid
said. "It's being said for
you and it's true. Besides,
'When in Rome,' you know."</p>

<p>"That's right. It's their
game, not ours, so I'll buy it.
So scat, all of you, and do
your stuff."</p>

<p>And again, for days that
lengthened slowly into weeks,
the work went on.</p>

<p>One evening the scientific
staff was giving itself a concert&mdash;a
tri-di hi-fi rendition
of <i>Rigoletto</i>, one of the greatest
of the ancient operas,
sung by the finest voices
Terra had ever known. The
men wore tuxedos. The girls,
instead of wearing the nondescript,
non-provocative garments
prescribed by the
Board for their general wear,
were all dressed to kill.</p>

<p>Sandra had so arranged
matters that she and Hilton
were sitting in chairs side by
side, with Sandra on his right
and the aisle on his left. Nevertheless,
Temple Bells sat at
his left, cross-legged on a
cushion on the floor&mdash;somewhat
to the detriment of her
gold-lame evening gown. Not
that she cared.</p>

<p>When those wonderful
voices swung into the immortal
<i>Quartette</i> Temple caught
her breath, slid her cushion
still closer to Hilton's chair,
and leaned shoulder and head
against him. He put his left
hand on her shoulder, squeezing
gently; she caught it and
held it in both of hers. And
at the <i>Quartette's</i> tremendous
climax she, scarcely trying to
stifle a sob, pulled his hand
down and hugged it fiercely,
the heel of his hand pressing
hard against her half-bare,
firm, warm breast.</p>

<p>And the next morning, early,
Sandra hunted Temple up
and said: "You made a horrible
spectacle of yourself last
night."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"DO you think so? I
don't."</p>

<p>"I certainly do. It was bad
enough before, letting everybody
else aboard know that all
he has to do is push you over.
But it was an awful blunder
to let <i>him</i> know it, the way
you did last night."</p>

<p>"You think so? He's one of
the keenest, most intelligent
men who ever lived. He has
known that from the very
first."</p>

<p>"Oh." This "oh" was a very
caustic one. "<i>That's</i> the way
you're trying to land him? By
getting yourself pregnant?"</p>

<p>"Uh-uh." Temple stretched;
lazily, luxuriously. "Not only
it isn't, but it wouldn't work.
He's unusually decent and
extremely idealistic, the same
as I am. So just one intimacy
would blow everything higher
than up. He knows it. I
know it. We each know that
the other knows it. So I'll
still be a virgin when we're
married."</p>

<p>"<i>Married!</i> Does he know
anything about <i>that</i>?"</p>

<p>"I suppose so. He must
have thought of it. But what
difference does it make
whether he has, yet, or not?
But to get back to what makes
him tick the way he does. In
his geometry&mdash;which is far
from being simple Euclid, my
dear&mdash;a geodesic right line is
not only the shortest distance
between any two given points,
but is the only possible
course. So that's the way I'm
playing it. What I hope he
doesn't know ... but he probably
does ... is that he could
take any other woman he
might want, just as easily.
And that includes you, my
pet."</p>

<p>"It certainly does <i>not</i>!"
Sandra flared. "I wouldn't
have him as a gift!"</p>

<p>"No?" Temple's tone was
more than slightly skeptical.
"Fortunately, however, he
doesn't want you. Your technique
is all wrong. Coyness
and mock-modesty and stop-or-I'll-scream
and playing
hard to get have no appeal
whatever to his psychology.
What he needs&mdash;has to have&mdash;is
full, ungrudging cooperation."</p>

<p>"Aren't you taking a lot of
risk in giving away such secrets?"</p>

<p>"Not a bit. Try it. You or
the sex-flaunting twins or
Bev Bell or Stella the Henna.
Any of you or all of you. I
got there first with the most,
and I'm not worried about
competition."</p>

<p>"But suppose somebody
tells him just how you're
playing him for a sucker?"</p>

<p>"Tell him anything you
please. He's the first man I
ever loved, or anywhere near.
And I'm keeping him. You
know&mdash;or do you, I wonder?&mdash;what
real, old-fashioned,
honest-to-God love really is?
The willingness&mdash;eagerness&mdash;both
to give and to take? I
can accept more from him,
and give him more in return,
than any other woman living.
And I am going to."</p>

<p>"But does <i>he</i> love <i>you</i>?"
Sandra demanded.</p>

<p>"If he doesn't now, he will.
I'll see to it that he does. But
what do <i>you</i> want him for?
You don't love him. You never
did and you never will."</p>

<p>"I <i>don't</i> want him!" Sandra
stamped a foot.</p>

<p>"I see. You just don't want
<i>me</i> to have him. Okay, do
your damnedest. But I've got
work to do. This has been a
lovely little cat-clawing,
hasn't it? Let's have another
one some day, and bring your
friends."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">WITH a casual wave of
her hand, Temple
strolled away; and there,
flashed through Sandra's
mind what Hilton had said so
long ago, little more than a
week out from Earth:</p>

<p>"... and Temple Bells, of
course," he had said. "Don't
fool yourself, chick. She's
heavy artillery; and I mean
<i>heavy</i>, believe me!"</p>

<p>So he had known all about
Temple Bells all this time!</p>

<p>Nevertheless, she took the
first opportunity to get Hilton
alone; and, even before
the first word, she forgot all
about geodesic right lines
and the full-cooperation psychological
approach.</p>

<p>"Aren't you the guy," she
demanded, "who was laughing
his head off at the idea that
the Board and its propinquity
could have any effect on
<i>him</i>?"</p>

<p>"Probably. More or less.
What of it?"</p>

<p>"This of it. You've fallen
like a ... a <i>freshman</i> for that
... that ... they <i>should</i> have
christened her 'Brazen'
Bells!"</p>

<p>"You're so right."</p>

<p>"I am? On what?"</p>

<p>"The 'Brazen'. I told you
she was a potent force&mdash;a
full-scale powerhouse, in sync
and on the line. And I wasn't
wrong."</p>

<p>"She's a damned female
Ph.D.&mdash;two or three times&mdash;and
she knows all about slipsticks
and isotopes and she
very definitely is <i>not</i> a cuddly
little brunette. Remember?"</p>

<p>"Sure. But what makes you
think I'm in love with Temple
Bells?"</p>

<p>"What?" Sandra tried to
think of one bit of evidence,
but could not. "Why ... why...."
She floundered, then
came up with: "Why, <i>every</i>body
knows it. She says so
herself."</p>

<p>"Did you ever hear her say
it?"</p>

<p>"Well, perhaps not in so
many words. But she told me
herself that you were <i>going</i>
to be, and I know you are
now."</p>

<p>"Your esper sense of endovix,
no doubt." Hilton laughed
and Sandra went on, furiously:</p>

<p>"She wouldn't keep on acting
the way she does if there
weren't something to it!"</p>

<p>"What brilliant reasoning!
Try again, Sandy."</p>

<p>"That's sheer sophistry, and
you know it!"</p>

<p>"It isn't and I don't. And
even if, some day, I should
find myself in love with her&mdash;or
with one or both of the
twins or Stella or Beverly or
you or Sylvia, for that matter&mdash;what
would it prove?
Just that I was wrong; and I
admit freely that I <i>was</i>
wrong in scoffing at the propinquity.
Wonderful stuff,
that. You can see it working,
all over the ship. On
me, even, in spite of my
bragging. Without it I'd never
have known that you're a
better, smarter operator than
Eggy Eggleston ever was or
ever can be."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">PARTIALLY mollified despite
herself, and highly
resentful of the fact, Sandra
tried again. "But don't you
<i>see</i>, Jarve, that she's just
simply playing you for a
sucker? Pulling the strings
and watching you dance?"</p>

<p>Since he was sure, in his
own mind, that she was
speaking the exact truth, it
took everything he had to
keep from showing any sign
of how much that truth had
hurt. However, he made the
grade.</p>

<p>"If that thought does anything
for you, Sandy," he
said, steadily, "keep right on
thinking it. Thank God, the
field of thought is still free
and open."</p>

<p>"Oh, you...." Sandra gave
up.</p>

<p>She had shot her heaviest
bolts&mdash;the last one, particularly,
was so vicious that she
had actually been afraid of
what its consequences might
be&mdash;and they had not even
dented Hilton's armor. She
hadn't even found out that he
had any feeling whatever for
Temple Bells except as a
component of his smoothly-functioning
scientific machine.</p>

<p>Nor did she learn any more
as time went on. Temple continued
to play flawlessly the
part of being&mdash;if not exactly
hopefully, at least not entirely
hopelessly&mdash;in love with
Jarvis Hilton. Her conduct,
which at first caused some
surprise, many conversations&mdash;one
of which has been reported
verbatim&mdash;and no little
speculation, became comparatively
unimportant as
soon as it became evident that
nothing would come of it.
She apparently expected
nothing. He was evidently not
going to play footsie with, or
show any favoritism whatever
toward, any woman
aboard the ship.</p>

<p>Thus, it was not surprising
to anyone that, at an evening
show, Temple sat beside Hilton,
as close to him as she
could get and as far away as
possible from everyone else.</p>

<p>"You can talk, can't you,
Jarvis, without moving your
lips and without anyone else
hearing you?"</p>

<p>"Of course," he replied,
hiding his surprise. This was
something completely new
and completely unexpected,
even from unpredictable
Temple Bells.</p>

<p>"I want to apologize, to explain
and to do anything I
can to straighten out the mess
I've made. It's true that I
joined the project because
I've loved you for years&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You have nothing to ..."</p>

<p>"Let me finish while I still
have the courage." Only a
slight tremor in her almost
inaudible voice and the rigidity
of the fists clenched in
her lap betrayed the intensity
of her emotion. "I thought I
could handle it. Damned fool
that I was, I thought I could
handle anything. I was sure I
could handle <i>myself</i>, under
any possible conditions. I
was going to put just enough
into the act to keep any of
these other harpies from getting
her hooks into you. But
everything got away from me.
Out here working with you
every day&mdash;knowing better
every day what you are&mdash;well,
that <i>Rigoletto</i> episode sunk
me, and now I'm in a thousand
feet over my head. I
hug my pillow at night,
dreaming it's you, and the
fact that you don't and can't
love me is driving me mad. I
can't stand it any longer.
There's only one thing to do.
Fire me first thing in the
morning and send me back to
Earth in a torp. You've
plenty of grounds ..."</p>

<p>"<i>Shut&mdash;up.</i>"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">FOR seconds Hilton had
been trying to break into
her hopeless monotone; finally
he succeeded. "The trouble
with you is, you know altogether
too damned much
that isn't so." He was barely
able to keep his voice down
and his eyes front. "What do
you think I'm made of&mdash;superefract?
I thought the
whole performance was an
act, to prove you're a better
man than I am. <i>You</i> talk
about dreams. Good God!
You don't know what dreams
are! If you say one more
word about quitting, I'll show
you whether I love you or
not&mdash;I'll squeeze you so hard
it'll flatten you out flat!"</p>

<p>"Two can play at that
game, sweetheart." Her nostrils
flared slightly; her fists
clenched&mdash;if possible&mdash;a fraction
tighter; and, even in the
distorted medium they were
using for speech, she could
not subdue completely her
quick change into soaring,
lilting buoyancy. "While
you're doing that I'll see how
strong your ribs are. Oh,
how this changes things! I've
never been half as happy in
my whole life as I am right
now!"</p>

<p>"Maybe we can work it&mdash;if
I can handle my end."</p>

<p>"Why, of course you can!
And happy dreams are nice,
not horrible."</p>

<p>"We'll make it, darling.
Here's an imaginary kiss coming
at you. Got it?"</p>

<p>"Received in good order,
thank you. Consumed with
gusto and returned in kind."</p>

<p>The show ended and the
two strolled out of the room.
She walked no closer to him
than usual, and no farther
away from him. She did not
touch him any oftener than
she usually did, nor any whit
more affectionately or possessively.</p>

<p>And no watching eyes, not
even the more than half hostile
eyes of Sandra Cummings
or the sharply analytical eyes
of Stella Wing, could detect
any difference whatever in
the relationship between worshipful
adulatress and tolerantly
understanding idol.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE work, which had never
moved at any very fast
pace, went more and more
slowly. Three weeks crawled
past.</p>

<p>Most of the crews and all
of the teams except the First
were working on side issues&mdash;tasks
which, while important
in and of themselves, had
very little to do with the project's
main problem. Hilton,
even without Sandra's help,
was all caught up. All the reports
had been analyzed, correlated,
cross-indexed and
filed&mdash;except those of the
First Team. Since he could
not understand anything
much beyond midpoint of the
first tape, they were all reposing
in a box labeled
PENDING.</p>

<p>The Navy had torn fifteen
of the Oman warships practically
to pieces, installing
Terran detectors and trying
to learn how to operate Oman
machinery and armament. In
the former they had succeeded
very well; in the latter not
at all.</p>

<p>Fifteen Oman ships were
now out in deep space, patrolling
the void in strict Navy
style. Each was manned by
two or three Navy men and
several hundred Omans, each
of whom was reveling in delight
at being able to do a job
for a Master, even though
that Master was not present
in person.</p>

<p>Several Strett skeleton-ships
had been detected at
long range, but the detections
were inconclusive. The things
had not changed course, or
indicated in any other way
that they had seen or detected
the Oman vessels on patrol.
If their detectors were
no better than the Omans',
they certainly hadn't. That
idea, however, could not be
assumed to be a fact, and the
detections had been becoming
more and more frequent. Yesterday
a squadron of seven&mdash;the
first time that anything
except singles had appeared&mdash;had
come much closer than
any of the singles had ever
done. Like all the others,
however, these passers-by had
not paid any detectable attention
to anything Oman;
hence it could be inferred
that the skeletons posed no
threat.</p>

<p>But Sawtelle was making
no such inferences. He was
very firmly of the opinion
that the Stretts were preparing
for a massive attack.</p>

<p>Hilton had assured Sawtelle
that no such attack
could succeed, and Larry had
told Sawtelle why. Nevertheless,
to keep the captain pacified,
Hilton had given him
permission to convert as
many Oman ships as he liked;
to man them with as many
Omans as he liked; and to use
ships and Omans as he liked.</p>

<p>Hilton was not worried
about the Stretts or the Navy.
It was the First Team. It was
the bottleneck that was slowing
everything down to a
crawl ... but they knew that.
They knew it better than anyone
else could, and felt it
more keenly. Especially
Karns, the team chief. He had
been driving himself like a
dog, and showed it.</p>

<p>Hilton had talked with him
a few times&mdash;tried gently to
make him take it easy&mdash;no
soap. He'd have to hunt him
up, the next day or so, and
slug it out with him. He
could do a lot better job on
that if he had something to
offer ... something really constructive....</p>

<p>That was a laugh. A very
unfunny laugh. What could
he, Jarvis Hilton, a specifically
non-specialist director,
do on such a job as that?</p>

<p>Nevertheless, as director,
he would <i>have</i> to do something
to help Team One. If
he couldn't do anything himself,
it was up to him to juggle
things around so that
someone else could.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>VI</h2>


<p class="cap">FOR one solid hour Hilton
stared at the wall, motionless
and silent. Then, shaking
himself and stretching, he
glanced at his clock.</p>

<p>A little over an hour to
supper-time. They'd all be
aboard. He'd talk this new
idea over with Teddy Blake.
He gathered up a few papers
and was stapling them together
when Karns walked in.</p>

<p>"Hi, Bill&mdash;speak of the
devil! I was just thinking
about you."</p>

<p>"I'll just bet you were."
Karns sat down, leaned over,
and took a cigarette out of
the box on the desk. "And
nothing printable, either."</p>

<p>"Chip-chop, fellow, on that
kind of noise," Hilton said.
The team-chief looked actually
haggard. Blue-black
rings encircled both eyes. His
powerful body slumped.
"How long has it been since
you had a good night's
sleep?"</p>

<p>"How long have I been on
this job? Exactly one hundred
and twenty days. I did
get some sleep for the first
few weeks, though."</p>

<p>"Yeah. So answer me one
question. How much good
will you do us after they've
wrapped you up in one of
those canvas affairs that lace
up the back?"</p>

<p>"Huh? Oh ... but damn it,
Jarve, I'm holding up the
whole procession. Everybody
on the project's just sitting
around on their tokuses waiting
for me to get something
done and I'm not doing it. I'm
going so slow a snail is lightning
in comparison!"</p>

<p>"Calm down, big fellow.
Don't rupture a gut or blow
a gasket. I've talked to you
before, but this time I'm going
to smack you bow-legged.
So stick out those big, floppy
ears of yours and really
<i>listen</i>. Here are three words
that I want you to pin up
somewhere where you can see
them all day long: SPEED
IS RELATIVE. Look back,
see how far up the hill you've
come, and then balance one
hundred and twenty days
against ten years."</p>

<p>"What? You mean you'll
actually sit still for me holding
everything up for ten
years?"</p>

<p>"You use the perpendicular
pronoun too much and in the
wrong places. On the hits it's
'we', but on the flops it's 'I'.
Quit it. Everything on this
job is 'we'. Terra's best
brains are on Team One and
are going to stay there. You
will not&mdash;repeat NOT&mdash;be interfered
with, pushed around
or kicked around. You see,
Bill, I know what you're up
against."</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 392px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:e:edward-smith-masters-of-space-002.png" width="392" height="550" alt="" title="" />
</div>

<p>"Yes, I guess you do. One
of the damned few who do.
But even if you personally
are willing to give us ten
years, how in hell do you
think you can swing it? How
about the Navy&mdash;the Stretts&mdash;even
the Board?"</p>

<p>"They're my business, Bill,
not yours. However, to give
you a little boost, I'll tell you.
With the Navy, I'll give 'em
the Fuel Bin if I have to. The
Omans have been taking care
of the Stretts for twenty-seven
hundred centuries, so
I'm not the least bit worried
about their ability to keep on
doing it for ten years more.
And if the Board&mdash;or anybody
else&mdash;sticks their runny little
noses into Project Theta
Orionis I'll slap a quarantine
onto both these solar systems
that a microbe couldn't get
through!"</p>

<p>"You'd go <i>that</i> far? Why,
you'd be ..."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"DO you think I
wouldn't?" Hilton
snapped. "Look at me, Junior!"
Eyes locked and held.
"Do you think, for one minute,
that I'll let anybody on
all of God's worlds pull <i>me</i>
off of this job or interfere
with my handling of it unless
and until I'm damned positively
certain that we can't
handle it?"</p>

<p>Karns relaxed visibly; the
lines of strain eased. "Putting
it in those words makes me
feel better. I <i>will</i> sleep to-night&mdash;and
without any pills,
either."</p>

<p>"Sure you will. One more
thought. We all put in more
than ten years getting our
Terran educations, and an
Oman education is a lot
tougher."</p>

<p>Really smiling for the first
time in weeks, Karns left the
office and Hilton glanced
again at his clock.</p>

<p>Pretty late now to see Teddy
... besides, he'd better not.
She was probably keyed up
about as high as Bill was, and
in no shape to do the kind of
thinking he wanted of her on
this stuff. Better wait a couple
of days.</p>

<p>On the following morning,
before breakfast, Theodora
was waiting for him outside
the mess-hall.</p>

<p>"Good morning, Jarve," she
caroled. Reaching up, she
took him by both ears, pulled
his head down and kissed him.
As soon as he perceived her
intent, he cooperated enthusiastically.
"What <i>did</i> you do
to Bill?"</p>

<p>"Oh, you don't love me for
myself alone, then, but just
on account of <i>that</i> big jerk?"</p>

<p>"That's right." Her artist's-model
face, startlingly beautiful
now, fairly glowed.</p>

<p>Just then Temple Bells
strolled up to them. "Morning,
you two lovely people."
She hugged Hilton's arm as
usual. "Shame on you, Teddy.
But I wish <i>I</i> had the nerve
to kiss him like that."</p>

<p>"Nerve? You?" Teddy
laughed as Hilton picked
Temple up and kissed her in
exactly the same fashion&mdash;he
hoped!&mdash;as he had just kissed
Teddy. "You've got more
nerve than an aching tooth.
But as Jarve would say it,
'scat, kitten'. We're having
breakfast <i>a la twosome</i>. We've
got things to talk about."</p>

<p>"All right for <i>you</i>," Temple
said darkly, although her dazzling
smile belied her tone.
That first kiss, casual-seeming
as it had been, had carried
vastly more freight than any
observer could perceive. "I'll
hunt Bill up and make passes
at him, see if I don't.
<i>That'll</i> learn ya!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THEODORA and Hilton
did have their breakfast <i>a
deux</i>&mdash;but she did not realize
until afterward that he had
not answered her question as
to what he had done to her
Bill.</p>

<p>As has been said, Hilton
had made it a prime factor of
his job to become thoroughly
well acquainted with every
member of his staff. He had
studied them <i>en masse</i>, in
groups and singly. He had
never, however, cornered
Theodora Blake for individual
study. Considering the
power and the quality of her
mind, and the field which was
her specialty, it had not been
necessary.</p>

<p>Thus it was with no ulterior
motives at all that, three
evenings later, he walked
her cubby-hole office and
tossed the stapled papers onto
her desk. "Free for a couple
of minutes, Teddy? I've got
troubles."</p>

<p>"I'll say you have." Her
lovely lips curled into an expression
he had never before
seen her wear&mdash;a veritable
sneer. "But these are not
them." She tossed the papers
into a drawer and stuck out
her chin. Her face turned as
hard as such a beautiful face
could. Her eyes dug steadily
into his.</p>

<p>Hilton&mdash;inwardly&mdash;flinched.
His mind flashed
backward. She too had been
working under stress, of
course; but that wasn't
enough. What could he have
<i>possibly</i> done to put Teddy
Blake, of all people, onto
such a warpath as this?</p>

<p>"I've been wondering when
you were going to try to put
<i>me</i> through your wringer,"
she went on, in the same cold,
hard voice, "and I've been
waiting to tell you something.
You have wrapped all
the other women around your
fingers like so many rings&mdash;and
what a <i>sickening</i> exhibition
that has been!&mdash;but you
are not going to make either
a ring or a lap-dog out of me."</p>

<p>Almost but not quite too
late Hilton saw through that
perfect act. He seized her
right hand in both of his, held
it up over her head, and
waved it back and forth in
the sign of victory.</p>

<p>"Socked me with my own
club!" he exulted, laughing
delightedly, boyishly. "And
came within a tenth of a split
red hair! If it hadn't been so
absolutely out of character
you'd've got away with it.
<i>What</i> a load of stuff! I was
right&mdash;of all the women on
this project, you're the only
one I've ever been really
afraid of."</p>

<p>"Oh, damn. Ouch!" She
grinned ruefully. "I hit you
with everything I had and it
just bounced. You're an operator,
chief. Hit 'em hard, at
completely unexpected angles.
Keep 'em staggering,
completely off balance. Tell
'em nothing&mdash;let 'em deduce
your lies for themselves. And
it anybody tries to slug you
back, like I did just now,
duck it and clobber him in
another unprotected spot.
Watching you work has been
not only a delight, but also a
liberal education."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"THANKS. I love you, too,
Teddy." He lighted two
cigarettes, handed her one.
"I'm glad, though, to lay it
flat on the table with you, because
in any battle of wits
with <i>you</i> I'm licked before
we start."</p>

<p>"Yeah. You just proved it.
And after licking me hands
down, you think you can
square it by swinging the old
shovel that way?" She did not
quite know whether to feel
resentful or not.</p>

<p>"Think over a couple of
things. First, with the possible
exception of Temple
Bells, you're the best brain
aboard."</p>

<p>"No. You are. Then Temple.
Then there are ..."</p>

<p>"Hold it. You know as well
as I do that accurate self-judgment
is impossible. Second,
the jam we're in. Do I,
or don't I, want to lay it on
the table with you, now and
from here on? Bore into that
with your Class A Double-Prime
brain. Then tell me."
He leaned back, half-closed
his eyes and smoked lazily.</p>

<p>She stiffened; narrowed her
eyes in concentration; and
thought. Finally: "Yes, you
do; and I'm gladder of that
than you will ever know."</p>

<p>"I think I know already,
since you're her best friend
and the only other woman I
know of in her class. But I
came in to kick a couple of
things around with you. As
you've noticed, that's getting
to be my favorite indoor
sport. Probably because I'm a
sort of jackleg theoretician
myself."</p>

<p>"You can frame that, Jarve,
as the understatement of the
century. But first, you are
going to answer that question
you sidestepped so neatly."</p>

<p>"What I did to Bill? I finally
convinced him that nobody
expected the team to do
that big a job overnight. That
you could have ten years. Or
more, if necessary."</p>

<p>"I see." She frowned. "But
you and I both know that we
<i>can't</i> string it out that long."</p>

<p>He did not answer immediately.
"We <i>could</i>. But we
probably won't ... unless we
have to. We should know,
long before that, whether
we'll have to switch to some
other line of attack. You've
considered the possibilities,
of course. Have you got anything
in shape to do a fine-tooth
on?"</p>

<p>"Not yet. That is, except
for the ultimate, which is too
ghastly to even consider except
as an ultimately last resort.
Have you?"</p>

<p>"I know what you mean.
No, I haven't, either. You
don't think, then, that we had
better do any collaborative
thinking yet?"</p>

<p>"Definitely not. There's altogether
too much danger of
setting both our lines of
thought into one dead-end
channel."</p>

<p>"Check. The other thing I
wanted from you is your considered
opinion as to my job
on the organization as a
whole. And don't pull your
punches. Are we in good
shape or not? What can I do
to improve the setup?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I HAVE already considered
that very thing&mdash;at great
length. And honestly, Jarve,
I don't see how it can be improved
in any respect. You've
done a marvelous job. Much
better than I thought possible
at first." He heaved a deep
sigh of relief and she went
on: "This could very easily
have become a God-awful
mess. But the Board knew
what they were doing&mdash;especially
as to top man&mdash;so
there are only about four people
aboard who realize what
you have done. Alex Kincaid
and Sandra Cummings are
two of them. One of the three
girls is very deeply and very
truly in love with you."</p>

<p>"Ordinarily I'd say 'no
comment', but we're laying
on the line ... well ..."</p>

<p>"You'll lay <i>that</i> on the line
only if I corkscrew it out
you, so I'll Q.E.D. it. You
probably know that when
Sandy gets done playing
around it'll be ..."</p>

<p>"Bounce back, Teddy. She
isn't&mdash;hasn't been. If anything,
too much the opposite.
A dedicated-scientist type."</p>

<p>She smiled&mdash;a highly cryptic
smile. For a man as brilliant
and as penetrant in every
other respect ... but after
all, if the big dope didn't realize
that half the women
aboard, including Sandy, had
been making passes at him,
she certainly wouldn't
enlighten him. Besides, that one
particular area of obtuseness
was a real part of his charm.
Wherefore she said merely:
"I'm not sure whether I'm a
bit catty or you're a bit stupid.
Anyway, it's Alex she's
really in love with. And you
already know about Bill and
me."</p>

<p>"Of course. He's tops. One
of the world's very finest.
You're in the same bracket,
and as a couple you're a drive
fit. One in a million."</p>

<p>"Now I can say 'I love you,
too', too." She paused for half
a minute, then stubbed out her
cigarette and shrugged. "Now
I'm going to stick my neck
way, way out. You can knock
it off if you like. She's a tremendous
lot of woman, and
if ... well, strong as she is,
it'd shatter her to bits. So,
I'd like to ask ... I don't
quite ... well, <i>is</i> she going to
get hurt?"</p>

<p>"Have I managed to hide it
<i>that</i> well? From <i>you</i>?"</p>

<p>It was her turn to show relief.
"Perfectly. Even&mdash;or especially&mdash;that
time you
kissed her. So damned perfectly
that I've been scared
green. I've been waking myself
up, screaming, in the middle
of the night. You couldn't
let on, of course. That's the
hell of such a job as yours.
The rest of us can smooch
around all over the place. I
knew the question was extremely
improper&mdash;thanks a
million for answering it."</p>

<p>"I haven't started to answer
it yet. I said I'd lay everything
on the line, so here
it is. Saying she's a tremendous
lot of woman is like calling
the <i>Perseus</i> a nice little
baby's-bathtub toy boat. I'd
go to hell for her any time,
cheerfully, standing straight
up, wading into brimstone
and lava up to the eyeballs.
If anything ever hurts her
it'll be because I'm not man
enough to block it. And just
the minute this damned job
is over, or even sooner if
enough of you couples make
it so I can ..."</p>

<p>"Jarvis!" she shrieked.
Jumping up, she kissed him
enthusiastically. "That's just
wonderful!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HE thought it was pretty
wonderful, too; and after
ten minutes more of conversation
he got up and turned
toward the door.</p>

<p>"I feel a lot better, Teddy.
Thanks for being such a nice
pressure-relief valve. Would
you mind it too much if I
come in and sob on your bosom
again some day?"</p>

<p>"I'd love it!" She laughed;
then, as he again started to
leave: "Wait a minute, I'm
thinking ... it'd be more fun to
sob on <i>her</i> bosom. You haven't
even kissed her yet, have you?
I mean <i>really</i> kissed her?"</p>

<p>"You know I haven't. She's
the one person aboard I can't
be alone with for a second."</p>

<p>"True. But I know of one
chaperone who could become
deaf and blind," she said, with
a broad and happy grin. "On
my door, you know, there's a
huge invisible sign that says,
to everyone except you,
'STOP! BRAIN AT WORK!
SILENCE!', and if I were
properly approached and sufficiently
urged, I might ... I
just <i>conceivably</i> might ..."</p>

<p>"Consider it done, you little
sweetheart! Up to and including
my most vigorous
and most insidious attempts
at seduction."</p>

<p>"Done. Maneuver your big,
husky carcass around here behind
the desk so the door can
open." She flipped a switch
and punched a number. "I can
call anybody in here, any
time, you know. Hello, dear,
this is Teddy. Can you come
in for just a few minutes?
Thanks." And, one minute later,
there came a light tap on
the door.</p>

<p>"Come in," Teddy called,
and Temple Bells entered the
room. She showed no surprise
at seeing Hilton.</p>

<p>"Hi, chief," she said. "It
must be something both big
and tough, to have you and
Teddy both on it."</p>

<p>"You're so right. It was
very big and very tough. But
it's solved, darling, so ..."</p>

<p>"<i>Darling?</i>" she gasped, almost
inaudibly, both hands
flying to her throat. Her eyes
flashed toward the other
woman.</p>

<p>"Teddy knows all about us&mdash;accessory
before, during
and after the fact."</p>

<p>"<i>Darling!</i>" This time, the
word was a shriek. She extended
both arms and started
forward.</p>

<p>Hilton did not bother to
maneuver his "big, husky carcass"
around the desk, but
simply hurdled it, straight
toward her.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">TEMPLE Bells was a tall,
lithe, strong woman; and
all the power of her arms and
torso went into the ensuing
effort to crack Hilton's ribs.
Those ribs, however, were
highly capable structural
members; and furthermore,
they were protected by thick
slabs of hard, hard muscle.
And, fortunately, he was not
trying to fracture <i>her</i> ribs.
His pressures were distributed
much more widely. He
was, according to promise,
doing his very best to flatten
her whole resilient body out
flat.</p>

<p>And as they stood there,
locked together in sheerest
ecstasy, Theodora Blake began
openly and unashamedly
to cry.</p>

<p>It was Temple who first
came up for air. She wriggled
loose from one of his arms,
felt of her hair and gazed unseeingly
into her mirror.
"That was <i>wonderful</i>, sweetheart,"
she said then, shakily.
"And I can <i>never</i> thank you
enough, Teddy. But we can't
do this very often ... can we?"
The addendum fairly begged
for contradiction.</p>

<p>"Not too often, I'm afraid,"
Hilton said, and Theodora
agreed....</p>

<p>"Well," the man said, somewhat
later, "I'll leave you two
ladies to your knitting, or
whatever. After a couple of
short ones for the road, that
is."</p>

<p>"Not looking like that!"
Teddy said, sharply. "Hold
still and we'll clean you up."
Then, as both girls went to
work:</p>

<p>"If anybody ever sees you
coming out of this office
looking like <i>that</i>," she went
on, darkly, "and Bill finds
out about it, he'll think it's
<i>my</i> lipstick smeared all over
you and I'll strangle you to
death with my bare hands!"</p>

<p>"And that was supposed to
be kissproof lipstick, too,"
Temple said, seriously&mdash;although
her whole face glowed
and her eyes danced. "You
know, I'll never believe another
advertisement I read."</p>

<p>"Oh, I wouldn't go so far
as to say that, if I were you."
Teddy's voice was gravity itself,
although she, too, was
bubbling over. "It probably
<i>is</i> kissproof. I don't think
'kissing' is quite the word for
the performance you just
staged. To stand up under
such punishment as you gave
it, my dear, anything would
have to be tattooed in, not
just put on."</p>

<p>"Hey!" Hilton protested.
"You promised to be deaf and
blind!"</p>

<p>"I did no such thing. I said
'could', not 'would'. Why, I
wouldn't have missed that for
<i>anything</i>!"</p>

<p>When Hilton left the room
he was apparently, in every
respect, his usual self-contained
self. However, it was
not until the following morning
that he so much as
thought of the sheaf of papers
lying unread in the
drawer of Theodora Blake's
desk.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>VII</h2>


<p class="cap">KNOWING that he had
done everything he could
to help the most important
investigations get under way,
Hilton turned his attention
to secondary matters. He
made arrangements to decondition
Javo, the Number Two
Oman Boss, whereupon that
worthy became Javvy and
promptly "bumped" the
Oman who had been shadowing
Karns.</p>

<p>Larry and Javvy, working
nights, deconditioned all the
other Omans having any contact
with BuSci personnel;
then they went on to set up
a routine for deconditioning
all Omans on both planets.</p>

<p>Assured at last that the
Omans would thenceforth
work with and really serve
human beings instead of insisting
upon doing their work
for them, Hilton knew that
the time had come to let all
his BuSci personnel move
into their homes aground.
Everyone, including himself,
was fed up to the gozzel
with spaceship life&mdash;its
jam-packed crowding; its
flat, reprocessed air; its limited
variety of uninteresting
food. Conditions were especially
irksome since everybody
knew that there was available
to all, whenever Hilton gave
the word, a whole city full of
all the room anyone could
want, natural fresh air and&mdash;so
the Omans had told them&mdash;an
unlimited choice of
everything anyone wanted to
eat.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, the decision
was not an easy one to make.</p>

<p>Living conditions were admittedly
not good on the ship.
On the other hand, with almost
no chance at all of solitude&mdash;the
few people who
had private offices aboard
were not the ones he worried
about&mdash;there was no danger
of sexual trouble. Strictly
speaking, he was not responsible
for the morals of his
force. He knew that he was
being terribly old-fashioned.
Nevertheless, he could not argue
himself out of the conviction
that he was morally
responsible.</p>

<p>Finally he took the thing
up with Sandra, who merely
laughed at him. "How long
have you been worrying about
<i>that</i>, Jarve?"</p>

<p>"Ever since I okayed moving
aground the first time.
That was one reason I was so
glad to cancel it then."</p>

<p>"You <i>were</i> slightly unclear&mdash;a
little rattled? But which
factor&mdash;the fun and games,
which is the moral issue, or
the consequences?"</p>

<p>"The consequences," he admitted,
with a rueful grin. "I
don't give a whoop how much
fun they have; but you know
as well as I do just how prudish
public sentiment is. And
Project Theta Orionis is
squarely in the middle of the
public eye."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"YOU should have
checked with me sooner
and saved yourself wear and
tear. There's no danger at all
of consequences&mdash;except weddings.
Lots of weddings, and
fast."</p>

<p>"Weddings and babies
wouldn't bother me a bit. Nor
interfere with the job too
much, with the Omans as
nurses. But why the 'fast', if
you aren't anticipating any
shotgun weddings?"</p>

<p>"Female psychology," she
replied, with a grin. "Aboard-ship
here there's no home atmosphere
whatever; nothing
but work, work, work. Put a
woman into a house, though&mdash;especially
such houses as the
Omans have built and with
such servants as they insist
on being&mdash;and she goes domestic
in a really big way.
Just sex isn't good enough
any more. She wants the kind
of love that goes with a husband
and a home, and nine
times out of ten she gets it.
With these BuSci women
it'll be ten out of ten."</p>

<p>"You may be right, of
course, but it sounds kind of
far-fetched to me."</p>

<p>"Wait and see, chum," Sandra
said, with a laugh.</p>

<p>Hilton made his announcement
and everyone moved
aground the next day. No
one, however, had elected to
live alone. Almost everyone
had chosen to double up; the
most noteworthy exceptions
being twelve laboratory girls
who had decided to keep on
living together. However,
they now had a twenty-room
house instead of a one-room
dormitory to live in, and a
staff of twenty Oman girls to
help them do it.</p>

<p>Hilton had suggested that
Temple and Teddy, whose
house was only a hundred
yards or so from the Hilton-Karns
bungalow, should have
supper and spend the first
evening with them; but the
girls had knocked that idea
flat. Much better, they
thought, to let things ride as
nearly as possible exactly as
they had been aboard the
<i>Perseus</i>.</p>

<p>"A <i>little</i> smooching now
and then, on the Q strictly T,
but that's all, darling. That's
<i>positively</i> all," Temple had
said, after a highly satisfactory
ten minutes alone with
him in her own gloriously
private room, and that was
the way it had to be.</p>

<p>Hence it was a stag inspection
that Hilton and Karns
made of their new home. It
was very long, very wide, and
for its size very low. Four of
its five rooms were merely
adjuncts to its tremendous
living-room. There was a
huge fireplace at each end of
this room, in each of which a
fire of four-foot-long fir
cordwood crackled and
snapped. There was a great
hi-fi tri-di, with over a hundred
tapes, all new.</p>

<p>"Yes, sirs," Larry and Javvy
spoke in unison. "The
players and singers who entertained
the Masters of old
have gone back to work. They
will also, of course, appear in
person whenever and wherever
you wish."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">BOTH men looked around
the vast room and Karns
said: "All the comforts of
home and a couple of bucks'
worth besides. Wall-to-wall
carpeting an inch and a half
thick. A grand piano. Easy
chairs and loafers and davenports.
Very fine reproductions
of our favorite paintings ... and
statuary."</p>

<p>"You said it, brother." Hilton
was bending over a group
in bronze. "If I didn't know
better, I'd swear this is the
original deHaven 'Dance of
the Nymphs'."</p>

<p>Karns had marched up to
and was examining minutely
a two-by-three-foot painting,
in a heavy gold frame, of a
gorgeously auburn-haired
nude. "Reproduction, hell!
This is a <i>duplicate</i>! Lawrence's
'Innocent' is worth
twenty million wogs and it's
sealed behind quad armor-glass
in Prime Art&mdash;but I'll
bet wogs to wiggles the
Prime Curator himself, with
all his apparatus, couldn't tell
this one from his!"</p>

<p>"I wouldn't take even one
wiggle's worth of that. And
this 'Laughing Cavalier' and
this 'Toledo' are twice as old
and twice as fabulously valuable."</p>

<p>"And there are my own golf
clubs...."</p>

<p>"Excuse us, sirs," the
Omans said, "These things
were simple because they
could be induced in your
minds. But the matter of a
staff could not, nor what
you would like to eat for
supper, and it is growing
late."</p>

<p>"Staff? What the hell has
the staff got to do with ..."</p>

<p>"<i>House</i>-staff, they mean,"
Karns said. "We don't need
much of anybody, boys. Somebody
to keep the place shipshape,
is all. Or, as a de luxe
touch, how about a waitress?
One housekeeper and one
waitress. That'll be finer."</p>

<p>"Very well, sirs. There is
one other matter. It has troubled
us that we have not been
able to read in your minds the
logical datum that they
should in fact simulate Doctor
Bells and Doctor Blake?"</p>

<p>"Huh?" Both men gasped&mdash;and
then both exploded
like one twelve-inch length of
primacord.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">WHILE the Omans could
not understand this
purely Terran reasoning, they
accepted the decision without
a demurring thought. "Who,
then, are the two its to simulate?"</p>

<p>"No stipulation; roll your
own," Hilton said, and
glanced at Karns. "None of
these Oman women are really
hard on the eyes."</p>

<p>"Check. Anybody who
wouldn't call any one of 'em
a slurpy dish needs a new set
of optic nerves."</p>

<p>"In that case," the Omans
said, "no delay at all will be
necessary, as we can make do
with one temporarily. The
Sory, no longer Sora, who has
not been glad since the Tuly
replaced it, is now in your
kitchen. It comes."</p>

<p>A woman came in and stood
quietly in front of the two
men, the wafted air carrying
from her clear, smooth skin
a faint but unmistakable
fragrance of Idaho mountain
syringa. She was radiantly
happy; her bright, deep-green
eyes went from man to man.</p>

<p>"You wish, sirs, to give me
your orders verbally. And yes,
you may order fresh, whole,
not-canned hens' eggs."</p>

<p>"I certainly will, then; I
haven't had a fried egg since
we left Terra. But ... Larry
said ... <i>you</i> aren't Sory!"</p>

<p>"Oh, but I am, sir."</p>

<p>Karns had been staring
her, eyes popping. "Holy
Saint Patrick! Talk about
simulation, Jarve! They've
made her over into Lawrence's
'Innocent'&mdash;exact to
twenty decimals!"</p>

<p>"You're so right." Hilton's
eyes went, half a dozen times,
from the form of flesh to the
painting and back. "That
must have been a terrific
job."</p>

<p>"Oh, no. It was quite simple,
really," Sory said, "since
the brain was not involved. I
merely reddened my hair and
lengthened it, made my eyes
to be green, changed my face
a little, pulled myself in a little
around here...." Her beautifully-manicured
hands
swept the full circle of her
waistline, then continued to
demonstrate appropriately
the rest of her speech:</p>

<p>"... and pushed me out a
little up here and tapered my
legs a little more&mdash;made them
a little larger and rounder
here at my hips and thighs
and a little smaller toward
and at my ankles. Oh, yes,
and made my feet and hands
a little smaller. That's all. I
thought the Doctor Karns
would like me a little better
this way."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"YOU can broadcast <i>that</i>
over the P-A system at
high noon." Karns was still
staring. "'That's all,' she
says. But you didn't have
<i>time</i> to ..."</p>

<p>"Oh, I did it day before
yesterday. As soon as Javvy
materialized the 'Innocent'
and I knew it to be your favorite
art."</p>

<p>"But damn it, we hadn't
even <i>thought</i> of having you
here then!"</p>

<p>"But I had, sir. I fully intended
to serve, one way or
another, in this your home.
But of course I had no idea
I would ever have such an
honor as actually waiting on
you at your table. Will you
please give me your orders,
sirs, besides the eggs? You
wish the eggs fried in butter&mdash;three
of them apiece&mdash;and
sunny side up."</p>

<p>"Uh-huh, with ham," Hilton
said. "I'll start with a jumbo
shrimp cocktail. Horseradish
and ketchup sauce; heavy on
the horseradish."</p>

<p>"Same for me," Karns said,
"but only half as much horseradish."</p>

<p>"And for the rest of it,"
Hilton went on, "hashed-brown
potatoes and buttered
toast&mdash;plenty of extra butter&mdash;strong
coffee from first to
last. Whipping cream and sugar
on the side. For dessert,
apple pie <i>a la mode</i>."</p>

<p>"You make me drool, chief.
Play that for me, please, Innocent,
all the way."</p>

<p>"Oh? You are&mdash;you, personally,
yourself, sir?&mdash;renaming
me 'Innocent'?"</p>

<p>"If you'll sit still for it,
yes."</p>

<p>"That is an incredible honor,
sir. Simply unbelievable.
I thank you! I thank you!"
Radiating happiness, she
dashed away toward the
kitchen.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">WHEN the two men were
full of food, they
strolled over to a davenport
facing the fire. As they sat
down, Innocent entered the
room, carrying a tall, dewy
mint julep on a tray. She was
followed by another female
figure bearing a bottle of
avignognac and the appurtenances
which are its due&mdash;and
at the first full sight of that
figure Hilton stopped breathing
for fifteen seconds.</p>

<p>Her hair was very thick, intensely
black and long, cut
squarely off just below the
lowest points of her shoulder
blades. Heavy brows and long
lashes&mdash;eyes too&mdash;were all
intensely, vividly black. Her
skin was tanned to a deep and
glowing almost-but-not-quite-brown.</p>

<p>"Murchison's Dark Lady!"
Hilton gasped. "Larry!
You've&mdash;we've&mdash;<i>I've</i> got that
painting here?"</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, sir." The newcomer
spoke before Larry
could. "At the other end&mdash;your
part&mdash;of the room. You
will look now, sir, please?"
Her voice was low, rich and
as smooth as cream.</p>

<p>Putting her tray down carefully
on the end-table, she led
him toward the other fireplace.
Past the piano, past the
tri-di pit; past a towering
grillwork holding art treasures
by the score. Over to
the left, against the wall,
there was a big, business-like
desk. On the wall, over the
desk, hung <i>the</i> painting; a
copy of which had been in
Hilton's room for over eight
years.</p>

<p>He stared at it for at least
a minute. He glanced around:
at the other priceless duplicates
so prodigally present,
at his own guns arrayed above
the mantel and on each side
of the fireplace. Then, without
a word, he started back to
join Karns. She walked
springily beside him.</p>

<p>"What's your name, Miss?"
he asked, finally.</p>

<p>"I haven't earned any as
yet, sir. My number is ..."</p>

<p>"Never mind that. Your
name is 'Dark Lady'."</p>

<p>"Oh, thank you, sir; that is
truly wonderful!" And Dark
Lady sat cross-legged on the
rug at Hilton's feet and busied
herself with the esoteric
rites of Old Avignon.</p>

<p>Hilton took a deep inhalation
and a small sip, then
stared at Karns. Karns, over
the rim of his glass, stared
back.</p>

<p>"I can see where this would
be habit-forming," Hilton
said, "and very deadly. <i>Extremely</i>
deadly."</p>

<p>"Every wish granted. Surrounded
by all this." Karns
swept his arm through three-quarters
of a circle. "Waited
on hand and foot by powerful
men and by the materializations
of the dreams of the
greatest, finest artists who
ever lived. Fatal? I don't
know...."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"MY solid hope is that we
never have to find out.
And when you add in Innocent
and Dark Lady.... They
<i>look</i> to be about seventeen,
but the thought that they're
older than the hills of Rome
and powered by everlasting
atomic engines&mdash;" He broke
off suddenly and blushed.
"Excuse me, please, girls. I
<i>know</i> better than to talk
about people that way, right
in front of them; I really do."</p>

<p>"Do you really think we're
<i>people</i>?" Innocent and Dark
Lady squealed, as one.</p>

<p>That set Hilton back onto
his heels. "I don't know....
I've wondered. Are you?"</p>

<p>Both girls, silent, looked at
Larry.</p>

<p>"We don't know, either,"
Larry said. "At first, of
course, there were crude, non-thinking
machines. But when
the Guide attained its present
status, the Masters themselves
could not agree. They
divided about half and half
on the point. They never did
settle it any closer than that."</p>

<p>"I certainly won't try to,
then. But for my money, you
are people," Hilton said, and
Karns agreed.</p>

<p>That, of course, touched off
a near-riot of joy; after which
the two men made an inch-by-inch
study of their tremendous
living-room. Then, long
after bedtime, Larry and Dark
Lady escorted Hilton to his
bedroom.</p>

<p>"Do you mind, sir, if we
sleep on the floor at the sides
of your bed?" Larry asked.
"Or must we go out into the
hall?"</p>

<p>"Sleep? I didn't know you
<i>could</i> sleep."</p>

<p>"It is not essential. However,
when round-the-clock
work is not necessary, and we
have opportunity to sleep
near a human being, we derive
a great deal of pleasure
and satisfaction from it. You
see, sir, we also serve during
sleep."</p>

<p>"Okay, I'll try anything
once. Sleep wherever you
please."</p>

<p>Hilton began to peel, but
before he had his shirt off
both Larry and Dark Lady
were stretched out flat, sound
asleep, one almost under each
edge of his bed. He slid in between
the sheets&mdash;it was the
most comfortable bed he had
ever slept in&mdash;and went to
sleep as though sandbagged.</p>

<p>He had time to wonder foggily
whether the Omans were
in fact helping him go to
sleep&mdash;and then he <i>was</i>
asleep.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">A MONTH passed. Eight couples
had married, the
Navy chaplain officiating&mdash;in
the <i>Perseus</i>, of course,
since the warship was, always
and everywhere, an integral
part of Terra.</p>

<p>Sandra had dropped in one
evening to see Hilton about a
bit of business. She was now
sitting, long dancer's legs
out-stretched toward the fire,
with a cigarette in her left
hand and a tall, cold drink on
a coaster at her right.</p>

<p>"This is a wonderful room,
Jarvis. It'd be perfect if it
weren't quite so ... so mannish."</p>

<p>"What do you expect of
Bachelors' Hall&mdash;a boudoir?
Don't tell me <i>you're</i> going
domestic, Sandy, just because
you've got a house?"</p>

<p>"Not just that, no. But of
course it helped it along."</p>

<p>"Alex is a mighty good
man. One of the finest I have
ever known."</p>

<p>She eyed him for a moment
in silence. "Jarvis Hilton, you
are one of the keenest, most
intelligent men who ever
lived. And yet ..." She broke
off and studied him for a
good half minute. "Say, if I
let my hair clear down, will
you?"</p>

<p>"Scout's Oath. That 'and
yet' requires elucidation at
any cost."</p>

<p>"I know. But first, yes, it's
Alex. I never would have believed
that any man ever born
could hit me so hard. Soon. I
didn't want to be the first,
but I won't be anywhere near
the last. But tell me. You
were really in love with Temple,
weren't you, when I
asked you?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Ha! You <i>are</i> letting your
hair down! That makes me
feel better."</p>

<p>"Huh? Why should it?"</p>

<p>"It elucidates the 'and yet'
no end. You were insulated
from all other female charms
by ye brazen Bells. You see,
most of us assistants made a
kind of game out of seeing
which of us could make you
break the Executives' Code.
And none of us made it. Teddy
and Temple said you
didn't know what was going
on; Bev and I said nobody as
smart as you are could possibly
be that stupid."</p>

<p>"You aren't the type to leak
or name names&mdash;oh, I see.
You are merely reporting a
conversation. The game had
interested, but non-participating,
observers. Temple
and Teddy, at least."</p>

<p>"At least," she agreed. "But
damn it, you <i>aren't</i> stupid.
There isn't a stupid bone in
your head. So it must be love.
And if so, what about marriage?
Why don't you and
Temple make it a double with
Alex and me?"</p>

<p>"That's the most cogent
thought you ever had, but setting
the date is the bride's
business." He glanced at his
Oman wristwatch. "It's early
yet; let's skip over. I wouldn't
mind seeing her a minute or
two."</p>

<p>"Thy statement ringeth
with truth, friend. Bill's there
with Teddy?"</p>

<p>"I imagine so."</p>

<p>"So we'll talk to them
about making it a triple. Oh,
nice&mdash;let's go!"</p>

<p>They left the house and,
her hand tucked under his elbow,
walked up the street.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">NEXT morning, on her
way to the Hall of Records,
Sandra stopped off as
usual at the office. The
Omans were all standing motionless.
Hilton was leaning
far back in his chair, feet on
desk, hands clasped behind
head, eyes closed. Knowing
what that meant, she turned
and started back out on tiptoe.</p>

<p>However, he had heard her.
"Can you spare a couple of
minutes to think at me,
Sandy?"</p>

<p>"Minutes or hours, chief."
Tuly placed a chair for her
and she sat down, facing him
across his desk.</p>

<p>"Thanks, gal. This time it's
the Stretts. Sawtelle's been
having nightmares, you know,
ever since we emerged, about
being attacked, and I've been
pooh-poohing the idea. But
now it's a statistic that the
soup is getting thicker, and I
can't figure out why. Why in
all the hells of space should
a stasis that has lasted for
over a quarter of a million
years be broken at this exact
time? The only possible explanation
is that <i>we</i> caused
the break. And any way I
look at that concept, it's plain
idiocy."</p>

<p>Both were silent for minutes;
and then it was demonstrated
again that Terra's Advisory
Board had done better
than it knew in choosing Sandra
Cummings to be Jarvis
Hilton's working mate.</p>

<p>"We did cause it, Jarve,"
she said, finally. "They knew
we were coming, even before
we got to Fuel Bin. They
knew we were human and
tried to wipe out the Omans
before we got there. Preventive
warfare, you know."</p>

<p>"They <i>couldn't</i> have
known!" he snorted. "Strett
detectors are no better than
Oman, and you know what
Sam Bryant had to say about
them."</p>

<p>"I know." Sandra grinned
appreciatively. "It's becoming
a classic. But it couldn't have
been any other way. Besides,
I <i>know</i> they did."</p>

<p>He stared at her helplessly,
then swung on Larry. "Does
that make sense to you?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir. The Stretts could
peyondire as well as the old
Masters could, and they undoubtedly
still can and do."</p>

<p>"Okay, it does make sense,
then." He absented himself in
thought, then came to life
with a snap. "Okay! The next
thing on the agenda is a
crash-priority try at a peyondix
team. Tuly, you organized
a team to generate sathura.
Can you do the same for
peyondix?"</p>

<p>"If we can find the ingredients,
yes, sir."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I HAD a hunch. Larry,
please ask Teddy Blake's
Oman to bring her in
here...."</p>

<p>"I'll be running along,
then." Sandra started to get
up.</p>

<p>"I hope to kiss a green pig
you won't!" Hilton snapped.
"You're one of the biggest
wheels. Larry, we'll want
Temple Bells and Beverly
Bell&mdash;for a start."</p>

<p>"Chief, you positively
amaze me," Sandra said then.
"Every time you get one of
these attacks of genius&mdash;or
whatever it is&mdash;you have me
gasping like a fish. Just what
can you <i>possibly</i> want of Bev
Bell?"</p>

<p>"Whatever it was that enabled
her to hit the target
against odds of almost infinity
to one; not just once,
but time after time. By definition,
intuition. What quality
did you use just now in getting
me off the hook? Intuition.
What makes Teddy
Blake such an unerring performer?
Intuition again. My
hunches&mdash;they're intuition,
too. Intuition, <i>hell</i>! Labels&mdash;based
on utterly abysmal
damned dumb ignorance of
our own basic frames of reference.
Do you think those
four kinds of intuition are
alike, by seven thousand rows
of apple trees?"</p>

<p>"Of course not. I see what
you're getting at.... Oh!
This'll be fun!"</p>

<p>The others came in and,
one by one, Tuly examined
each of the four women and
the man. Each felt the probing,
questioning feelers of her
thought prying into the deepest
recesses of his mind.</p>

<p>"There is not quite enough
of each of three components,
all of which are usually associated
with the male. You,
sir, have much of each, but
not enough. I know your men
quite well, and I think we
will need the doctors Kincaid
and Karns and Poynter. But
such deep probing is felt.
Have I permission, sir?"</p>

<p>"Yes. Tell 'em I said so."</p>

<p>Tuly scanned. "Yes, sir, we
should have all three."</p>

<p>"Get 'em, Larry." Then, in
the pause that followed:
"Sandy, remember yowling
about too many sweeties on a
team? What do you think of
this business of all sweeties?"</p>

<p>"All that proves is that nobody
can be wrong all the
time," she replied flippantly.</p>

<p>The three men arrived and
were instructed. Tuly said:
"The great trouble is that
each of you must use a portion
of your mind that you do
not know you have. You, this
one. You, that one." Tuly
probed mercilessly; so poignantly
that each in turn
flinched under brand-new and
almost unbearable pain.
"With you, Doctor Hilton, it
will be by far the worst. For
you must learn to use almost
all the portions of both your
minds, the conscious and the
unconscious. This must be,
because you are the actual
peyondixer. The others merely
supply energies in which
you yourself are deficient.
Are you ready for a terrible
shock, sir?"</p>

<p>"Shoot."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HE thought for a second
that he <i>had</i> been shot;
that his brain had blown up.</p>

<p>He couldn't stand it&mdash;he
<i>knew</i> he was going to die&mdash;he
wished he <i>could</i> die&mdash;anything,
anything whatever, to
end this unbearable agony....</p>

<p>It ended.</p>

<p>Writhing, white and sweating,
Hilton opened his eyes.
"Ouch," he remarked, conversationally.
"What next?"</p>

<p>"You will seize hold of the
energies your friends offer.
You will bind them to yours
and shape the whole into a
dimensionless sphere of pure
controlled, dirigible energy.
And, as well as being the
binding force, the cohesiveness,
you must also be the
captain and the pilot and the
astrogator and the ultimately
complex computer itself."</p>

<p>"But how can I.... Okay,
damn it. I <i>will</i>!"</p>

<p>"Of course you will, sir.
Remember also that once the
joinings are made I can be of
very little more assistance,
for my peyondix is as nothing
compared to that of your
fusion of eight. Now, to assemble
the energies and join
them you will, all together,
deny the existence of the sum
total of reality as you know
it. Distance does not exist&mdash;every
point in the reachable
universe coincides with every
other point and that common
point is the focus of your attention.
You can be and actually
are anywhere you please
or everywhere at once. Time
does not exist. Space does not
exist. There is no such thing
as opacity; everything is perfectly
transparent, yet every
molecule of substance is perceptible
in its relationship to
every other molecule in the
cosmos. Senses do not exist.
Sight, hearing, taste, touch,
smell, sathura, endovix&mdash;all
are parts of the one great
sense of peyondix. I am guiding
each of you seven&mdash;closer!
Tighter! There! Seize it,
sir&mdash;and when you work the
Stretts you must fix it clearly
that time does not exist.
You must work in millionths
of microseconds instead of in minutes,
for they have minds
of tremendous power. Reality
does not exist! Compress it
more, sir. Tighter! Smaller!
Rounder! There! Hold it!
Reality does not exist&mdash;distance
does not exist&mdash;all possible
points are.... <i>Wonderful!</i>"</p>

<p>Tuly screamed the word
and the thought: "Good-by!
Good luck!"</p>


<p class="theend">END OF PART ONE</p>



<hr style="width: 65%; visibility: visible;" />



<div class="tease1">
<p class="tease">They were the Masters, and they
had only to choose: eternal life,
as inhuman monsters&mdash;or death!</p></div>

<p class="head1">PART TWO</p>


<h1>MASTERS<br />
OF<br />
SPACE</h1>

<h2 class="h2title">By EDWARD E. SMITH &amp;<br />
E. EVERETT EVANS</h2>

<p class="illo">Illustrated by BERRY</p>




<div class="blockquot"><p><i>What has gone before: The crew of the starship Orion
found themselves in the middle of a great space war between
the creatures called Stretts and the lost android
servants of their own human ancestors. Helped by the
androids, the Earthmen formed themselves into the powerful
telepathic linkage called "peyondix" to invade the
Strett planet itself. As their minds joined they heard the
android Tuly cry out, "Good...." And then their minds
were out in interstellar space.</i></p></div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>VIII</h2>


<p class="cap">HILTON did not have to
drive the peyondix-beam
to the planet Strett; it was already
there. And there was the
monstrous First Lord Thinker
Zoyar.</p>

<p>Into that mind his multi-mind
flashed, its every member
as responsive to his will
as his own fingers&mdash;almost infinitely
more so, in fact, because
of the tremendous
lengths of time required to
send messages along nerves.</p>

<p>That horrid mind was
scanned cell by cell. Then, after
what seemed like a few
hours, when a shield began
sluggishly to form, Hilton
transferred his probe to the
mind of the Second Thinker,
one Lord Ynos, and absorbed
everything she knew. Then,
the minds of all the other
Thinkers being screened, he
studied the whole Strett planet,
foot by foot, and everything
that was on it.</p>

<p>Then, mission accomplished,
Hilton snapped his attention
back to his office and the
multi-mind fell apart. As he
opened his eyes he heard Tuly
scream: "... Luck!"</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;you still here, Tuly?
How long have we been
gone?"</p>

<p>"Approximately one and
one-tenth seconds, sir."</p>

<p>"WHAT!"</p>

<p>Beverly Bell, in the haven
of Franklin Poynter's arms,
fainted quietly. Sandra
shrieked piercingly. The four
men stared, goggle-eyed. Temple
and Teddy, as though by
common thought, burrowed
their faces into brawny shoulders.</p>

<p>Hilton recovered first. "So
<i>that's</i> what peyondix is."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir&mdash;I mean no, sir.
No, I mean yes, but ..." Tuly
paused, licking her lips in that
peculiarly human-female gesture
of uncertainty.</p>

<p>"Well, what <i>do</i> you mean?
It either is or isn't. Or is that
necessarily so?"</p>

<p>"Not exactly, sir. That is, it
started as peyondix. But it became
something else. Not even
the most powerful of the old
Masters&mdash;nobody&mdash;ever did or
ever could <i>possibly</i> generate
such a force as that. Or handle
it so fast."</p>

<p>"Well, with seven of the
best minds of Terra and a ..."</p>

<p>"Chip-chop the chit-chat!"
Karns said, harshly. "What I
want to know is whether I
was having a nightmare. Can
there <i>possibly</i> be a race such
as I thought I saw? So utterly
savage&mdash;ruthless&mdash;merciless!
So devoid of every human
trace and so hell-bent determined
on the extermination
of every other race in the Galaxy?
God damn it, it simply
doesn't make sense!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">EYES went from eyes to
eyes to eyes.</p>

<p>All had seen the same indescribably
horrible, abysmally
atrocious, things. Qualities
and quantities and urges and
drives that no words in any
language could even begin to
portray.</p>

<p>"It doesn't seem to, but
there it is." Teddy Blake
shook her head hopelessly.</p>

<p>Big Bill Karns, hands still
shaking, lit a cigarette before
he spoke again. "Well, I've
never been a proponent of
genocide. But it's my considered
opinion that the Stretts
are one race the galaxy can
get along without."</p>

<p>"A hell of a lot better without,"
Poynter said, and all
agreed.</p>

<p>"The point is, what can we
do about it?" Kincaid asked.
"The first thing, I would say,
is to see whether we can do
this&mdash;whatever it is&mdash;without
Tuly's help. Shall we try it?
Although I, for one, don't feel
like doing it right away."</p>

<p>"Not I, either." Beverly
Bell held up her right hand,
which was shaking uncontrollably.
"I feel as though I'd
been bucking waves, wind
and tide for forty-eight
straight hours without food,
water or touch. Maybe in
about a week I'll be ready for
another try at it. But today&mdash;not
a chance!"</p>

<p>"Okay. Scat, all of you,"
Hilton ordered. "Take the
rest of the day off and rest
up. Put on your thought-screens
and don't take them
off for a second from now on.
Those Stretts are tough hombres."</p>

<p>Sandra was the last to leave.
"And you, boss?" she asked
pointedly.</p>

<p>"I've got some thinking to
do."</p>

<p>"I'll stay and help you
think?"</p>

<p>"Not yet." He shook his
head, frowned and then
grinned. "You see, chick, I
don't even know yet what it
is I'm going to have to think
about."</p>

<p>"A bit unclear, but I know
what you mean&mdash;I think.
Luck, chief."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">IN their subterranean sanctum
turn on distant Strett, two
of the deepest thinkers of that
horribly unhuman race were
in coldly intent conference via
thought.</p>

<p>"My mind has been plundered,
Ynos," First Lord
Thinker Zoyar radiated,
harshly. "Despite the extremely
high reactivity of my shield
some information&mdash;I do not
know how much&mdash;was taken.
The operator was one of the
humans of that ship."</p>

<p>"I, too, felt a plucking at
my mind. But those humans
could not peyondire, First
Lord."</p>

<p>"Be logical, fool! At that
contact, in the matter of which
you erred in not following up
continuously, they succeeded
in concealing their real abilities
from you."</p>

<p>"That could be the truth.
Our ancestors erred, then, in
recording that all those weak
and timid humans had been
slain. These offenders are
probably their descendants,
returning to reclaim their
former world."</p>

<p>"The probability must be
evaluated and considered.
Was it or was it not through
human aid that the Omans destroyed
most of our task-force?"</p>

<p>"Highly probable, but impossible
of evaluation with the
data now available."</p>

<p>"Obtain more data at once.
That point must be and shall
be fully evaluated and fully
considered. This entire situation
is intolerable. It must be
abated."</p>

<p>"True, First Lord. But every
operator and operation is
now tightly screened. Oh, if
I could only go out there myself ..."</p>

<p>"Hold, fool! Your thought
is completely disloyal and un-Strettly."</p>

<p>"True, oh First Lord Thinker
Zoyar. I will forthwith remove
my unworthy self from
this plane of existence."</p>

<p>"You will not! I hereby
abolish that custom. Our numbers
are too few by far. Too
many have failed to adapt.
Also, as Second Thinker, your
death at this time would be
slightly detrimental to certain
matters now in work. I will
myself, however, slay the unfit.
To that end repeat The
Words under my peyondiring."</p>

<p>"I am a Strett. I will devote
my every iota of mental and
of physical strength to forwarding
the Great Plan. I am,
and will remain, a Strett."</p>

<p>"You do believe in The
Words."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"OF course I believe in
them! I <i>know</i> that in a
few more hundreds of thousands
of years we will be rid
of material bodies and will become
invincible and invulnerable.
Then comes the Conquest
of the Galaxy ... and
then the Conquest of the Universe!"</p>

<p>"No more, then, on your
life, of this weak and cowardly
repining! Now, what of
your constructive thinking?"</p>

<p>"Programming must be such
as to obviate time-lag. We
must evaluate the factors already
mentioned and many
others, such as the reactivation
of the spacecraft which
was thought to have been destroyed
so long ago. After
having considered all these
evaluations, I will construct a
Minor Plan to destroy these
Omans, whom we have permitted
to exist on sufferance, and
with them that shipload of
despicably interloping humans."</p>

<p>"That is well." Zoyar's mind
seethed with a malevolent
ferocity starkly impossible for
any human mind to grasp.
"And to that end?"</p>

<p>"To that end we must intensify
still more our program
of procuring data. We must
revise our mechs in the light
of our every technological advance
during the many thousands
of cycles since the last
such revision was made. Our
every instrument of power, of
offense and of defense, must
be brought up to the theoretical
ultimate of capability."</p>

<p>"And as to the Great
Brain?"</p>

<p>"I have been able to think
of nothing, First Lord, to add
to the undertakings you have
already set forth."</p>

<p>"It was not expected that
you would. Now: is it your
final thought that these interlopers
are in fact the descendants
of those despised humans
of so long ago?"</p>

<p>"It is."</p>

<p>"It is also mine. I return,
then, to my work upon the
Brain. You will take whatever
measures are necessary. Use
every artifice of intellect and
of ingenuity and our every resource.
But abate this intolerable
nuisance, and soon."</p>

<p>"It shall be done, First
Lord."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE Second Thinker issued
orders. Frenzied, round-the-clock
activity ensued.
Hundreds of mechs operated
upon the brains of hundreds
of others, who in turn operated
upon the operators.</p>

<p>Then, all those brains
charged with the technological
advances of many thousands
of years, the combined
hundreds went unrestingly to
work. Thousands of work-mechs
were built and put to
work at the construction of
larger and more powerful
space-craft.</p>

<p>As has been implied, those
battle-skeletons of the Stretts
were controlled by their own
built-in mechanical brains,
which were programmed for
only the simplest of battle
maneuvers. Anything at all
out of the ordinary had to be
handled by remote control, by
the specialist-mechs at their
two-miles-long control board.</p>

<p>This was now to be changed.
Programming was to be made
so complete that almost any
situation could be handled by
the warship or the missile itself&mdash;instantly.</p>

<p>The Stretts <i>knew</i> that they
were the most powerful, the
most highly advanced race in
the universe. Their science
was the highest in the universe.
Hence, with every operating
unit brought up to the
full possibilities of that science,
that would be more than
enough. Period.</p>

<p>This work, while it required
much time, was very
much simpler than the task
which the First Thinker had
laid out for himself on the
giant computer-plus which the
Stretts called "The Great
Brain." In stating his project,
First Lord Zoyar had said:</p>

<p>"Assignment: To construct
a machine that will have the
following abilities: One, to
contain and retain all knowledge
and information fed into
it, however great the amount.
Two, to feed itself additional
information by peyondiring
all planets, wherever situate,
bearing intelligent life. Three,
to call up instantly any and
all items of information pertaining
to any problem we
may give it. Four, to combine
and recombine any number
of items required to form
new concepts. Five, to formulate
theories, test them and
draw conclusions helpful to
us in any matter in work."</p>

<p>It will have been noticed
that these specifications vary
in one important respect from
those of the Eniacs and Univacs
of Earth. Since we of
Earth can not peyondire, we
do not expect that ability from
our computers.</p>

<p>The Stretts could, and did.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">WHEN Sandra came back
into the office at five
o'clock she found Hilton still
sitting there, in almost exactly
the same position.</p>

<p>"Come out of it, Jarve!"
She snapped a finger. "That
much of <i>that</i> is just simply
too damned much."</p>

<p>"You're so right, child." He
got up, stretched, and by main
strength shrugged off his foul
mood. "But we're up against
something that is really a
something, and I don't mean
perchance."</p>

<p>"How well I know it." She
put an arm around him, gave
him a quick, hard hug. "But
after all, you don't have to
solve it this evening, you
know."</p>

<p>"No, thank God."</p>

<p>"So why don't you and
Temple have supper with me?
Or better yet, why don't all
eight of us have supper together
in that bachelors' paradise
of yours and Bill's?"</p>

<p>"That'd be fun."</p>

<p>And it was.</p>

<p>Nor did it take a week for
Beverly Bell to recover from
the Ordeal of Eight. On the
following evening, she herself
suggested that the team should
take another shot at that utterly
fantastic <i>terra incognita</i>
of the multiple mind, jolting
though it had been.</p>

<p>"But are you sure you can
take it again so soon?" Hilton
asked.</p>

<p>"Sure. I'm like that famous
gangster's moll, you know,
who bruised easy but healed
quick. And I want to know
about it as much as anyone
else does."</p>

<p>They could do it this time
without any help from Tuly.
The linkage fairly snapped together
and shrank instantaneously
to a point. Hilton
thought of Terra and there it
was; full size, yet occupying
only one infinitesimal section
of a dimensionless point. The
multi-mind visited relatives of
all eight, but could not make
intelligible contact. If asleep,
it caused pleasant dreams; if
awake, pleasant thoughts of
the loved one so far away in
space; but that was all. It
visited mediums, in trance and
otherwise&mdash;many of whom,
not surprisingly now, were
genuine&mdash;with whom it held
lucid conversations. Even in
linkage, however, the multi-mind
knew that none of the
mediums would be believed,
even if they all told, simultaneously,
exactly the same
story. The multi-mind weakened
suddenly and Hilton
snapped it back to Ardry.</p>

<p>Beverly was almost in collapse.
The other girls were
white, shaken and trembling.
Hilton himself, strong and
rugged as he was, felt as
though he had done two weeks
of hard labor on a rock-pile.
He glanced questioningly at
Larry.</p>

<p>"Point six three eight seconds,
sir," the Omans said,
holding up a millisecond timer.</p>

<p>"How do you explain <i>that</i>?"
Karns demanded.</p>

<p>"I'm afraid it means that
without Oman backing we're
out of luck."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HILTON had other ideas,
but he did not voice any
of them until the following
day, when he was rested and
had Larry alone.</p>

<p>"So carbon-based brains
can't take it. One second of
that stuff would have killed
all eight of us. Why? The
Masters had the same kind of
brains we have."</p>

<p>"I don't know, sir. It's something
completely new. No
Master, or group of Masters,
ever generated such a force
as that. I can scarcely believe
such power possible, even
though I have felt it twice. It
may be that over the generations
your individual powers,
never united or controlled,
have developed so
strength that no human
can handle them in fusion."</p>

<p>"And none of us ever knew
anything about any of them.
I've been doing a lot of thinking.
The Masters had qualities
and abilities now unknown to
any of us. How come? You
Omans&mdash;and the Stretts, too&mdash;think
we're descendants of the
Masters. Maybe we are. You
think they came originally
from Arth&mdash;Earth or Terra&mdash;to
Ardu. That'd account for
our legends of Mu, Atlantis
and so on. Since Ardu was
within peyondix range of
Strett, the Stretts attacked it.
They killed all the Masters,
they thought, and made the
planet uninhabitable for any
kind of life, even their own.
But one shipload of Masters
escaped and came here to
Ardry&mdash;far beyond peyondix
range. They stayed here for a
long time. Then, for some reason
or other&mdash;which may be
someplace in their records&mdash;they
left here, fully intending
to come back. Do any of you
Omans know why they left?
Or where they went?"</p>

<p>"No, sir. We can read only
the simplest of the Masters'
records. They arranged our
brains that way, sir."</p>

<p>"I know. They're the type.
However, I suspect now that
your thinking is reversed.
Let's turn it around. Say the
Masters didn't come from
Terra, but from some other
planet. Say that they left here
because they were dying out.
They were, weren't they?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir. Their numbers became
fewer and fewer each
century."</p>

<p>"I was sure of it. They were
committing race suicide by
letting you Omans do everything
they themselves should
have been doing. Finally they
saw the truth. In a desperate
effort to save their race they
pulled out, leaving you here.
Probably they intended to
come back when they had bred
enough guts back into themselves
to set you Omans down
where you belong...."</p>

<p>"But <i>they</i> were always the
Masters, sir!"</p>

<p>"They were not! They were
hopelessly enslaved. Think it
over. Anyway, say they went
<i>to</i> Terra from here. That still
accounts for the legends and
so on. However, they were too
far gone to make a recovery,
and yet they had enough fixity
of purpose <i>not</i> to manufacture
any of you Omans
there. So their descendants
went a long way down the
scale before they began to
work back up. Does that make
sense to you?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"IT explains many things,
sir. It can very well be the
truth."</p>

<p>"Okay. However it was,
we're here, and facing a condition
that isn't funny. While
we were teamed up I learned
a lot, but not nearly enough.
Am I right in thinking that I
now don't need the other seven
at all&mdash;that my cells are
fully charged and I can go it
alone?"</p>

<p>"Probably, sir, but ..."</p>

<p>"I'm coming to that. Every
time I do it&mdash;up to maximum
performance, of course&mdash;it
comes easier and faster and
hits harder. So next time, or
maybe the fourth or fifth
time, it'll kill me. And the
other seven, too, if they're
along."</p>

<p>"I'm not sure, sir, but I
think so."</p>

<p>"Nice. Very, <i>very</i> nice."
Hilton got up, shoved both
hands into his pockets, and
prowled about the room. "But
can't the damned stuff be controlled?
Choked&mdash;throttled
down&mdash;damped&mdash;muzzled,
some way or other?"</p>

<p>"We do not know of any
way, sir. The Masters were always
working toward more
power, not less."</p>

<p>"That makes sense. The
more power the better, as long
as you can handle it. But I
can't handle this. And neither
can the team. So how about
organizing another team, one
that hasn't got quite so much
whammo? Enough punch to
do the job, but not enough
to backfire that way?"</p>

<p>"It is highly improbable
that such a team is possible,
sir." If an Oman could be
acutely embarrassed, Larry
was. "That is, sir ... I should
tell you, sir ..."</p>

<p>"You certainly should.
You've been stalling all along,
and now you're stalled. Spill
it."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir. The Tuly begged
me not to mention it, but I
must. When it organized your
team it had no idea of what
it was really going to do...."</p>

<p>"Let's talk the same language,
shall we? Say 'he' and
'she.' Not 'it.'"</p>

<p>"She thought she was setting
up the peyondix, the same
as all of us Omans have. But
after she formed in your mind
the peyondix matrix, your
mind went on of itself to form
a something else; a thing we
can not understand. That was
why she was so extremely ... I
think 'frightened' might be
your term."</p>

<p>"I knew something was biting
her. Why?"</p>

<p>"Because it very nearly
killed you. You perhaps have
not considered the effect upon
us all if any Oman, however
unintentionally, should kill a
Master?"</p>

<p>"No, I hadn't ... I see. So
she won't play with fire any
more, and none of the rest of
you can?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir. Nothing could
force her to. If she could be
so coerced we would destroy
her brain before she could act.
That brain, as you know, is
imperfect, or she could not
have done what she did. It
should have been destroyed
long since."</p>

<p>"Don't <i>ever</i> act on that assumption,
Larry." Hilton
thought for minutes. "Simple
peyondix, such as yours, is not
enough to read the Masters'
records. If I'd had three brain
cells working I'd've tried them
then. I wonder if I <i>could</i> read
them?"</p>

<p>"You have all the old Masters'
powers and more. But
you must not assemble them
again, sir. It would mean
death."</p>

<p>"But I've got to <i>know</i>....
I've <i>got</i> to know! Anyway, a
thousandth of a second would
be enough. I don't think that'd
hurt me very much."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HE concentrated&mdash;read a
few feet of top-secret
braided wire&mdash;and came back
to consciousness in the sickbay
of the <i>Perseus</i>, with two
doctors working on him;
Hastings, the top Navy medico,
and Flandres, the surgeon.</p>

<p>"What the hell happened to
you?" Flandres demanded.
"Were you trying to kill yourself?"</p>

<p>"And if so, how?" Hastings
wanted to know.</p>

<p>"No, I was trying not to,"
Hilton said, weakly, "and I
guess I didn't much more than
succeed."</p>

<p>"That was just about the
closest shave I ever saw a man
come through. Whatever it
was, don't do it again."</p>

<p>"I won't," he promised, feelingly.</p>

<p>When they let him out of
the hospital, four days later,
he called in Larry and Tuly.</p>

<p>"The next time would be
the last time. So there won't
be any," he told them. "But
just how sure are you that
some other of our boys or girls
may not have just enough of
whatever it takes to do the
job? Enough oompa, but not
too much?"</p>

<p>"Since we, too, are on
strange ground the probability
is vanishingly small. We have
been making inquiries, however,
and scanning. You were selected
from all the minds of
Terra as the one having the
widest vision, the greatest
scope, the most comprehensive
grasp. The ablest at synthesis
and correlation and so on."</p>

<p>"That's printing it in big
letters, but that was more or
less what they were after."</p>

<p>"Hence the probability approaches
unity that any more
such ignorant meddling as this
obnoxious Tuly did well result
almost certainly in failure
and death. Therefore we can
not and will not meddle
again."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"YOU'VE got a point
there.... So what I am is
some kind of a freak. Maybe
a kind of super-Master and
maybe something altogether
different. Maybe duplicable in
a less lethal fashion, and maybe
not. Veree helpful&mdash;I don't
think. But I don't want to kill
anybody, either ... especially
if it wouldn't do any good.
But we've got to do <i>something</i>!"
Hilton scowled in
thought for minutes. "But an
Oman brain could take it. As
you told us, Tuly, 'The brain
of the Larry is very, very
tough.'"</p>

<p>"In a way, sir. Except that
the Masters were very careful
to make it physically impossible
for any Oman to go very
far along that line. It was
only their oversight of my one
imperfect brain that enabled
me, alone of us all, to do that
wrong."</p>

<p>"Stop thinking it was
wrong, Tuly. I'm mighty glad
you did. But I wasn't thinking
of any regular Oman
brain...." Hilton's voice petered
out.</p>

<p>"I see, sir. Yes, we can, by
using your brain as Guide, reproduce
it in an Oman body.
You would then have the powers
and most of the qualities
of both ..."</p>

<p>"No, you don't see, because
I've got my screen on. Which
I will now take off&mdash;" he suited
action to word&mdash;"since the
whole planet's screened and I
have nothing to hide from you.
Teddy Blake and I both
thought of that, but we'll consider
it only as the ultimately
last resort. We don't want
to live a million years. And
we want our race to keep on
developing. But you folks can
replace carbon-based molecules
with silicon-based ones
just as easily as, and a hell of
a lot faster than, mineral water
petrifies wood. What can
you do along the line of rebuilding
me that way? And
if you can do any such conversion,
what would happen?
Would I live at all? And if
so, how long? How would I
live? What would I live on?
All that kind of stuff."</p>

<p>"Shortly before they left,
two of the Masters did some
work on that very thing. Tuly
and I converted them, sir."</p>

<p>"Fine&mdash;or is it? How did it
work out?"</p>

<p>"Perfectly, sir ... except that
they destroyed themselves. It
was thought that they wearied
of existence."</p>

<p>"I don't wonder. Well, if it
comes to that, I can do the
same. You <i>can</i> convert me,
then."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir. But before we do
it we must do enough preliminary
work to be sure that
you will not be harmed in any
way. Also, there will be many
more changes involved than
simple substitution."</p>

<p>"Of course. I realize that.
Just see what you can do,
please, and let me know."</p>

<p>"We will, sir, and thank you
very much."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>IX</h2>


<p class="cap">AS has been intimated, no
Terran can know what researches
Larry and Tuly and
the other Oman specialists
performed, or how they arrived
at the conclusions they
reached. However, in less than
a week Larry reported to Hilton.</p>

<p>"It can be done, sir, with
complete safety. And you will
live even more comfortably
than you do now."</p>

<p>"How long?"</p>

<p>"The mean will be about
five thousand Oman years&mdash;you
don't know that an Oman
year is equal to one point two
nine three plus Terran years?"</p>

<p>"I didn't, no. Thanks."</p>

<p>"The maximum, a little less
than six thousand. The minimum,
a little over four thousand.
I'm very sorry we had
no data upon which to base
a closer estimate."</p>

<p>"Close enough." He stared
at the Oman. "You could also
convert my wife?"</p>

<p>"Of course, sir."</p>

<p>"Well, we might be able to
stand it, after we got used to
the idea. Minimum, over five
thousand Terran years ... barring
accidents, of course?"</p>

<p>"No, sir. No accidents.
Nothing will be able to kill
you, except by total destruction
of the brain. And even
then, sir, there will be the pattern."</p>

<p>"I'll ... be ... damned...."
Hilton gulped twice. "Okay,
go ahead."</p>

<p>"Your skins will be like
ours, energy-absorbers. Your
'blood' will carry charges of
energy instead of oxygen.
Thus, you may breathe or not,
as you please. Unless you
wish otherwise, we will continue
the breathing function.
It would scarcely be worth
while to alter the automatic
mechanisms that now control
it. And you will wish at times
to speak. You will still enjoy
eating and drinking, although
everything ingested will be
eliminated, as at present, as
waste."</p>

<p>"We'd add uranexite to our
food, I suppose. Or drink radioactives,
or sleep under cobalt-60
lamps."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir. Your family life
will be normal; your sexual
urges and satisfactions the
same. Fertilization and period
of gestation unchanged. Your
children will mature at the
same ages as they do now."</p>

<p>"How do you&mdash;oh, I see.
You wouldn't change any
molecular linkages or configurations
in the genes or
chromosomes."</p>

<p>"We could not, sir, even if
we wished. Such substitutions
can be made only in exact one-for-one
replacements. In the
near future you will, of
course, have to control births
quite rigorously."</p>

<p>"We sure would. Let's see ... say
we want a stationary
population of a hundred million
on our planet. Each couple
to have two children, a
boy and a girl. Born when the
parents are about fifty ... um-m-m.
The gals can have
all the children they want,
then, until our population is
about a million; then slap on
the limit of two kids per couple.
Right?"</p>

<p>"Approximately so, sir. And
after conversion you alone
will be able to operate with
the full power of your eight,
without tiring. You will also,
of course, be able to absorb almost
instantaneously all the
knowledges and abilities of
the old Masters."</p>

<p>Hilton gulped twice before
he could speak. "You wouldn't
be holding anything else back,
would you?"</p>

<p>"Nothing important, sir.
Everything else is minor, and
probably known to you."</p>

<p>"I doubt it. How long will
the job take, and how much
notice will you need?"</p>

<p>"Two days, sir. No notice.
Everything is ready."</p>

<p>Hilton, face somber, thought
for minutes. "The more I
think of it the less I like it.
But it seems to be a forced
put ... and Temple will blow
sky high ... and <i>have</i> I got the
guts to go it alone, even if
she'd let me...." He shrugged
himself out of the black mood.
"I'll look her up and let you
know, Larry."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HE looked her up and told
her everything. Told her
bluntly; starkly; drawing the
full picture in jet black, with
very little white.</p>

<p>"There it is, sweetheart.
The works," he concluded.
"We are not going to have ten
years; we may not have ten
months. So&mdash;if such a brain
as that can be had, do we or
do we not have to have it? I'm
putting it squarely up to
you."</p>

<p>Temple's face, which had
been getting paler and paler,
was now as nearly colorless as
it could become; the sickly
yellow of her skin's light tan
unbacked by any flush of red
blood.</p>

<p>Her whole body was tense
and strained.</p>

<p>"There's a horrible snapper
on that question.... Can't <i>I</i> do
it? Or <i>anybody</i> else except
you?"</p>

<p>"No. Anyway, whose job is
it, sweetheart?"</p>

<p>"I know, but ... but I know
just how close Tuly came to
killing you. And that wasn't
<i>anything</i> compared to such a
radical transformation as this.
I'm afraid it'll kill you, darling.
And I just simply
couldn't <i>stand</i> it!"</p>

<p>She threw herself into his
arms, and he comforted her in
the ages-old fashion of man
with maid.</p>

<p>"Steady, hon," he said, as
soon as he could lift her tear-streaked
face from his shoulder.
"I'll live through it. I
thought you were getting the
howling howpers about having
to live for six thousand years
and never getting back to Terra
except for a Q strictly T
visit now and then."</p>

<p>She pulled away from him,
flung back her wheaten mop
and glared. "So <i>that's</i> what
you thought! What do I care
how long I live, or how, or
where, as long as it's with
you? But what makes you
think we can possibly live
through such a horrible conversion
as that?"</p>

<p>"Larry wouldn't do it if
there was any question whatever.
He didn't say it would
be painless. But he did say I'd
live."</p>

<p>"Well, he knows, I guess ... I
hope." Temple's natural
fine color began to come back.
"But it's understood that just
the second you come out of
the vat, I go right in."</p>

<p>"I hadn't ought to let you,
of course. But I don't think
I could take it alone."</p>

<p>That statement required a
special type of conference,
which consumed some little
time. Eventually, however,
Temple answered it in words.</p>

<p>"Of course you couldn't,
sweetheart, and I wouldn't let
you, even if you could."</p>

<p>There were a few things
that had to be done before
those two secret conversions
could be made. There was the
matter of the wedding, which
was now to be in quadruplicate.
Arrangements had to be
made so that eight Big
Wheels of the Project could
all be away on honeymoon at
once.</p>

<p>All these things were done.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">OF the conversion operations
themselves, nothing
more need be said. The honeymooners,
having left ship and
town on a Friday afternoon,
came back one week from the
following Monday<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> morning.
The eight met joyously in
Bachelors' Hall; the girls
kissing each other and the
men indiscriminately and enthusiastically;
the men cooperating
zestfully.</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> While it took some time to recompute
the exact Ardrian calendar,
Terran day names and Terran
weeks were used from the first.
The Omans manufactured watches,
clocks, and chronometers which
divided the Ardrian day into
twenty-four Ardrian hours, with
minutes and seconds as usual.</p></div>

<p>Temple scarcely blushed at
all, she was so engrossed in
trying to find out whether or
not anyone was noticing any
change. No one seemed to notice
anything out of the ordinary.
So, finally, she asked.</p>

<p>"Don't <i>any</i> of you, really,
see anything different?"</p>

<p>The six others all howled at
that, and Sandra, between giggles
and snorts, said: "No,
precious, it doesn't show a bit.
Did you really think it
would?"</p>

<p>Temple blushed furiously
and Hilton came instantly to
his bride's rescue. "Chip-chop
the comedy, gang. She and I
aren't human any more. We're
a good jump toward being
Omans. I couldn't make her
believe it doesn't show."</p>

<p>That stopped the levity,
cold, but none of the six could
really believe it. However, after
Hilton had coiled a twenty-penny
spike into a perfect
helix between his fingers, and
especially after he and Temple
had each chewed up and
swallowed a piece of uranexite,
there were no grounds
left for doubt.</p>

<p>"That settles it ... it <i>tears</i>
it," Karns said then. "Start all
over again, Jarve. We'll listen,
this time."</p>

<p>Hilton told the long story
again, and added: "I had to
re-work a couple of cells of
Temple's brain, but now she
can read and understand the
records as well as I can. So I
thought I'd take her place on
Team One and let her boss
the job on all the other teams.
Okay?"</p>

<p>"So you don't want to let
the rest of us in on it."
Karns's level stare was a far
cry from the way he had
looked at his chief a moment
before. "If there's any one
thing in the universe I never
had <i>you</i> figured for, it's a dog
in the manger."</p>

<p>"Huh? You mean you actually
<i>want</i> to be a ... a ... hell,
we don't even know <i>what</i> we
are!"</p>

<p>"I do want it, Jarvis. We all
do." This was, of all people,
Teddy! "No one in all history
has had more than about fifty
years of really productive
thinking. And just the idea of
having enough time ..."</p>

<p>"Hold it, Teddy. Use your
brain. The Masters couldn't
take it&mdash;they committed suicide.
How do you figure we
can do any better?"</p>

<p>"Because we'll <i>use</i> our
brains!" she snapped. "They
didn't. The Omans will serve
us; and that's <i>all</i> they'll do."</p>

<p>"And do you think you'll be
able to raise your children and
grandchildren and so on to do
the same? To have guts
enough to resist the pull of
such an ungodly habit-forming
drug as this Oman service
is?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I'M sure of it." She nodded
positively. "And we'll
run all applicants through a
fine enough screen to&mdash;that is,
if we ever consider anybody
except our own BuSci people.
And there's another reason."
She grinned, got up, wriggled
out of her coverall, and posed
in bra and panties. "Look. I
can keep most of this for five
years. Quite a lot of it for ten.
Then comes the struggle.
What do <i>you</i> think I'd do for
the ability, whenever it begins
to get wrinkly or flabby, to
peel the whole thing off and
put on a brand-spanking-new
smooth one? You name it, I'll
do it! Besides, Bill and I will
<i>both</i> just simply and cold-bloodedly
murder you if you
try to keep us out."</p>

<p>"Okay." Hilton looked at
Temple; she looked at him;
both looked at all the others.
There was no revulsion at all.
Nothing but eagerness.</p>

<p>Temple took over.</p>

<p>"I'm surprised. We're both
surprised. You see, Jarve
didn't want to do it at all, but
he had to. I not only didn't
want to, I was scared green
and yellow at just the idea of
it. But I had to, too, of course.
We didn't think anybody
would really want to. We
thought we'd be left here
alone. We still will be, I
think, when you've thought it
clear through, Teddy. You
just haven't realized yet that
we aren't even human any
more. We're simply nothing
but <i>monsters</i>!" Temple's
voice became a wail.</p>

<p>"I've said my piece," Teddy
said. "You tell 'em, Bill."</p>

<p>"Let me say something
first," Kincaid said. "Temple,
I'm ashamed of you. This line
isn't at all your usual straight
thinking. What you actually
are is <i>homo superior</i>. Bill?"</p>

<p>"I can add one bit to that. I
don't wonder that you were
scared silly, Temple. Utterly
new concept and you went
into it stone cold. But now
we see the finished product
and we like it. In fact, we
drool."</p>

<p>"I'll say we're drooling,"
Sandra said. "I could do handstands
and pinwheels with
joy."</p>

<p>"Let's see you," Hilton said.
"That we'd all get a kick out
of."</p>

<p>"Not now&mdash;don't want to
hold this up&mdash;but sometime I
just will. Bev?"</p>

<p>"I'm for it&mdash;and <i>how</i>! And
won't Bernadine be amazed,"
Beverly laughed gleefully, "at
her wise-crack about the 'race
to end all human races' coming
true?"</p>

<p>"I'm in favor of it, too, one
hundred per cent," Poynter
said. "Has it occurred to you,
Jarve, that this opens up intergalactic
exploration? No
supplies to carry and plenty
of time and fuel?"</p>

<p>"No, it hadn't. You've got a
point there, Frank. That
might take a little of the
curse off of it, at that."</p>

<p>"When some of our kids get
to be twenty years old or so
and get married, I'm going to
take a crew of them to Andromeda.
We'll arrange, then, to
extend our honeymoons another
week," Hilton said.
"What will our policy be?
Keep it dark for a while with
just us eight, or spread it to
the rest?"</p>

<p>"Spread it, I'd say," Kincaid
said.</p>

<p>"We can't keep it secret,
anyway," Teddy argued.
"Since Larry and Tuly were
in on the whole deal, every
Oman on the planet knows all
about it. Somebody is going
to ask questions, and Omans
always answer questions and
always tell the truth."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"QUESTIONS have already
been asked and
answered," Larry said, going
to the door and opening it.</p>

<p>Stella rushed in. "We've
been hearing the <i>damnedest</i>
things!" She kissed everybody,
ending with Hilton,
whom she seized by both
shoulders. "Is it actually true,
boss, that you can fix me up
so I'll live practically forever
and can eat more than eleven
calories a day without getting
fat as a pig? Candy, ice cream,
cake, pie, eclairs, cream puffs,
French pastries, sugar and
gobs of thick cream in my coffee...?"</p>

<p>Half a dozen others, including
the van der Moen twins,
came in. Beverly emitted
a shriek of joy. "Bernadine!
The mother of the race to end
all human races!"</p>

<p>"You whistled it, birdie!"
Bernadine caroled. "I'm going
to have ten or twelve, each
one weirder than all the others.
I told you I was a prophet&mdash;I'm
going to hang out my
shingle. Wholesale and retail
prophecy; special rates for
large parties." Her voice was
drowned out in a general
clamor.</p>

<p>"Hold it, everybody!" Hilton
yelled. "Chip-chop it!
<i>Quit</i> it!" Then, as the noise
subsided, "If you think I'm
going to tell this tall tale over
and over again for the next
two weeks you're all crazy. So
shut down the plant and get
everybody out here."</p>

<p>"Not <i>everybody</i>, Jarve!"
Temple snapped. "We don't
want scum, and there's some
of that, even in BuSci."</p>

<p>"You're so right. Who,
then?"</p>

<p>"The rest of the heads and
assistants, of course ... and all
the lab girls and their husbands
and boy-friends. I know
they are all okay. That will be
enough for now, don't you
think?"</p>

<p>"I do think;" and the indicated
others were sent for;
and in a few minutes arrived.</p>

<p>The Omans brought chairs
and Hilton stood on a table.
He spoke for ten minutes.
Then: "Before you decide
whether you want to or not,
think it over very carefully,
because it's a one-way street.
Fluorine can not be displaced.
Once in, you're stuck for life.
<i>There is no way back.</i> I've
told you all the drawbacks and
disadvantages I know of, but
there may be a lot more that
I haven't thought of yet. So
think it over for a few days
and when each of you has definitely
made up his or her
mind, let me know." He
jumped down off the table.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HIS listeners, however, did
not need days, or even
seconds, to decide. Before
Hilton's feet hit the floor
there was a yell of unanimous
approval.</p>

<p>He looked at his wife. "Do
you suppose <i>we're</i> nuts?"</p>

<p>"Uh-uh. Not a bit. Alex was
right. I'm going to just <i>love</i>
it!" She hugged his elbow
ecstatically. "So are you, darling,
as soon as you stop looking
at only the black side."</p>

<p>"You know ... you could be
right?" For the first time
since the "ghastly" transformation
Hilton saw that there
really was a bright side and
began to study it. "With most
of BuSci&mdash;and part of the
Navy, and selectees from Terra&mdash;it
<i>will</i> be slightly terrific,
at that!"</p>

<p>"And that 'habit-forming-drug'
objection isn't insuperable,
darling," Temple said.
"If the younger generations
start weakening we'll fix the
Omans. I wouldn't want to
wipe them out entirely,
but ..."</p>

<p>"But how do we settle priority,
Doctor Hilton?" a girl
called out; a tall, striking,
brunette laboratory technician
whose name Hilton needed a
second to recall. "By pulling
straws or hair? Or by shooting
dice or each other or
what?"</p>

<p>"Thanks, Betty, you've got
a point. Sandy Cummings and
department heads first, then
assistants. Then you girls, in
alphabetical order, each with
her own husband or fiance."</p>

<p>"And my name is Ames.
Oh, goody!"</p>

<p>"Larry, please tell them
to ..."</p>

<p>"I already have, sir. We
are set up to handle four at
once."</p>

<p>"Good boy. So scat, all of
you, and get back to work&mdash;except
Sandy, Bill, Alex, and
Teddy. You four go with
Larry."</p>

<p>Since the new sense was not
peyondix, Hilton had started
calling it "perception" and
the others adopted the term
as a matter of course. Hilton
could use that sense for what
seemed like years&mdash;and actually
was whole minutes&mdash;at
a time without fatigue or
strain. He could not, however,
nor could the Omans,
give his tremendous power to
anyone else.</p>

<p>As he had said, he could do
a certain amount of reworking;
but the amount of improvement
possible to make
depended entirely upon what
there was to work on. Thus,
Temple could cover about
six hundred light-years. It developed
later that the others
of the Big Eight could cover
from one hundred up to four
hundred or so. The other department
heads and assistants
turned out to be still weaker,
and not one of the rank and
file ever became able to cover
more than a single planet.</p>

<p>This sense was not exactly
telepathy; at least not what
Hilton had always thought
telepathy would be. If anything,
however, it was more.
It was a lumping together of
all five known human senses&mdash;and
half a dozen unknown
ones called, collectively, "intuition"&mdash;into
one super-sense
that was all-inclusive and all-informative.
If he ever could
learn exactly what it was and
exactly what it did and how it
did it ... but he'd better chip-chop
the wool-gathering and
get back onto the job.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE Stretts had licked the
old Masters very easily,
and intended to wipe out the
Omans and the humans. They
had no doubt at all as to their
ability to do it. Maybe they
could. If the Masters hadn't
made some progress that the
Omans didn't know about,
they probably could. That was
the first thing to find out. As
soon as they'd been converted
he'd call in all the experts
and they'd go through the
Masters' records like a dose
of salts through a hillbilly
schoolma'am.</p>

<p>At that point in Hilton's
cogitations Sawtelle came in.</p>

<p>He had come down in his
gig, to confer with Hilton as
to the newly beefed-up fleet.
Instead of being glum and
pessimistic and foreboding, he
was chipper and enthusiastic.
They had rebuilt a thousand
Oman ships. By combining
Oman and Terran science, and
adding everything the First
Team had been able to reduce
to practise, they had hyped up
the power by a good fifteen
per cent. Seven hundred of
those ships, and all his men,
were now arrayed in defense
around Ardry. Three hundred,
manned by Omans, were
around Fuel Bin.</p>

<p>"Why?" Hilton asked. "It's
Fuel Bin they've been attacking."</p>

<p>"Uh-uh. Minor objective,"
the captain demurred, positively.
"The real attack will
be here at you; the headquarters
and the brains. Then
Fuel Bin will be duck soup.
But the thing that pleased me
most is the control. Man, you
never imagined such control!
No admiral in history ever
had such control of ten ships
as I have of seven hundred.
Those Omans spread orders
so fast that I don't even finish
thinking one and it's being
executed. And no misunderstandings,
no slips. For instance,
this last batch&mdash;fifteen
skeletons. Far out; they're
getting cagy. I just thought
'Box 'em in and slug 'em' and&mdash;In!
Across! Out! Socko!
Pffft! Just like that and just
that fast. None of 'em had
time to light a beam. Nobody
before ever even <i>dreamed</i> of
such control!"</p>

<p>"That's great, and I like it ... and
you're only a captain.
How many ships can Five-Jet
Admiral Gordon put into
space?"</p>

<p>"That depends on what you
call ships. Superdreadnoughts,
<i>Perseus</i> class, six. First-line
battleships, twenty-nine. Second-line,
smaller and some
pretty old, seventy-three.
Counting everything armed
that will hold air, something
over two hundred."</p>

<p>"I thought it was something
like that. How would you like
to be Five-Jet Admiral Sawtelle
of the Ardrian Navy?"</p>

<p>"I wouldn't. I'm Terran
Navy. But you knew that and
you know me. So&mdash;what's on
your mind?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HILTON told him. <i>I ought
to put this on a tape</i>, he
thought to himself, <i>and broadcast
it every hour on the hour</i>.</p>

<p>"They took the old Masters
like dynamiting fish in a barrel,"
he concluded, "and I'm
damned afraid they're going
to lick us unless we take a
lot of big, fast steps. But the
hell of it is that I can't tell
you anything&mdash;not one single
thing&mdash;about any part of it.
There's simply no way at all
of getting through to you
without making you over into
the same kind of a thing I
am."</p>

<p>"Is that bad?" Sawtelle was
used to making important decisions
fast. "Let's get at it."</p>

<p>"Huh? Skipper, do you realize
just what that means? If
you think they'll let you resign,
forget it. They'll crucify
you&mdash;brand you as a traitor
and God only knows what
else."</p>

<p>"Right. How about you and
your people?"</p>

<p>"Well, as civilians, it won't
be as bad...."</p>

<p>"The hell it won't. Every
man and woman that stays
here will be posted forever as
the blackest traitors old Terra
ever disgraced herself by
spawning."</p>

<p>"You've got a point there, at
that. We'll all have to bring
our relatives&mdash;the ones we
think much of, at least&mdash;out
here with us."</p>

<p>"Definitely. Now see what
you can do about getting me
run through your mill."</p>

<p>By exerting his authority,
Hilton got Sawtelle put
through the "Preservatory" in
the second batch processed.
Then, linking minds with the
captain, he flashed their joint
attention to the Hall of Records.
Into the right room; into
the right chest; along miles
and miles of braided wire carrying
some of the profoundest
military secrets of the ancient
Masters.</p>

<p>Then:</p>

<p>"Now you know a little of
it," Hilton said. "Maybe a
thousandth of what we'll have
to have before we can take
the Stretts as they will have
to be taken."</p>

<p>For seconds Sawtelle could
not speak. Then: "My ... God.
I see what you mean.
You're right. No Omans can
ever go to Terra; and no Terrans
can ever come here except
to stay forever."</p>

<p>The two then went out into
space, to the flagship&mdash;which
had been christened the <i>Orion</i>&mdash;and
called in the six commanders.</p>

<p>"What <i>is</i> all this senseless
idiocy we've been getting,
Jarve?" Elliott demanded.</p>

<p>Hilton eyed all six with pretended
disfavor. "You six
guys are the hardest-headed
bunch of skeptics that
ever went unhung," he remarked,
dispassionately. "So
it wouldn't do any good to
tell you anything&mdash;yet. The
skipper and I will show you a
thing first. Take her away,
Skip."</p>

<p>The <i>Orion</i> shot away under
interplanetary drive and for
several hours Hilton and Sawtelle
worked at re-wiring and
practically rebuilding two devices
that no one, Oman or
human, had touched since the
<i>Perseus</i> had landed on Ardry.</p>

<p>"What are you ... I don't
understand what you are doing,
sir," Larry said. For the
first time since Hilton had
known him, the Oman's mind
was confused and unsure.</p>

<p>"I know you don't. This is
a bit of top-secret Masters'
stuff. Maybe, some day, we'll
be able to re-work your brain
to take it. But it won't be for
some time."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>X</h2>


<p class="cap">THE <i>Orion</i> hung in space,
a couple of thousands of
miles away from an asteroid
which was perhaps a mile in
average diameter. Hilton
straightened up.</p>

<p>"Put Triple X Black filters
on your plates and watch that
asteroid." The commanders
did so. "Ready?" he asked.</p>

<p>"Ready, sir."</p>

<p>Hilton didn't move a muscle.
Nothing actually moved.
Nevertheless there was a motionlessly
writhing and crawling
distortion of the ship and
everything in it, accompanied
by a sensation that simply can
not be described.</p>

<p>It was not like going into
or emerging from the sub-ether.
It was not even remotely
like space-sickness or sea-sickness
or free fall or anything
else that any Terran had
ever before experienced.</p>

<p>And the asteroid vanished.</p>

<p>It disappeared into an outrageously
incandescent, furiously
pyrotechnic, raveningly
expanding atomic fireball that
in seconds seemed to fill half
of space.</p>

<p>After ages-long minutes of
the most horrifyingly devastating
fury any man there had
ever seen, the frightful thing
expired and Hilton said:
"<i>That</i> was just a kind of a
firecracker. Just a feeble imitation
of the first-stage detonator
for what we'll have to
have to crack the Stretts'
ground-based screens. If the
skipper and I had taken time
to take the ship down to the
shops and really work it over
we could have put on a show.
Was this enough so you iron-heads
are ready to listen with
your ears open and your
mouths shut?"</p>

<p>They were. So much so that
not even Elliott opened his
mouth to say yes. They merely
nodded. Then again&mdash;for
the last time, he hoped!&mdash;Hilton
spoke his piece. The
response was prompt and
vigorous. Only Sam Bryant,
one of Hilton's staunchest allies,
showed any uncertainty
at all.</p>

<p>"I've been married only a
year and a half, and the baby
was due about a month ago.
How sure are you that you
can make old Gordon sit still
for us skimming the cream off
of Terra to bring out here?"</p>

<p>"Doris Bryant, the cream of
Terra!" Elliott gibed. "<i>How</i>
modest our Samuel has become!"</p>

<p>"Well, damn it, she is!"
Bryant insisted.</p>

<p>"Okay, she is," Hilton
agreed. "But either we get our
people or Terra doesn't get
its uranexite. That'll work. In
the remote contingency that
it doesn't, there are still tighter
screws we can put on. But
you missed the main snapper,
Sam. Suppose Doris doesn't
want to live for five thousand
years and is allergic to becoming
a monster?"</p>

<p>"Huh; you don't need to
worry about that." Sam
brushed that argument aside
with a wave of his hand.
"Show me a girl who doesn't
want to stay young and beautiful
forever and I'll square
you the circle. Come on.
What's holding us up?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE <i>Orion</i> hurtled through
space back toward Ardry
and Hilton, struck by a sudden
thought, turned to the
captain.</p>

<p>"Skipper, why wouldn't it
be a smart idea to clamp a
blockade onto Fuel Bin? Cut
the Stretts' fuel supply?"</p>

<p>"I thought better of you
than that, son." Sawtelle
shook his head sadly. "That
was the first thing I did."</p>

<p>"Ouch. Maybe you're 'way
ahead of me too, then, on the
one that we should move to
Fuel Bin, lock, stock and barrel?"</p>

<p>"Never thought of it, no.
Maybe you're worth saving,
after all. After conversion, of
course.... Yes, there'd be
three big advantages."</p>

<p>"Four."</p>

<p>Sawtelle raised his eyebrows.</p>

<p>"One, only one planet to defend.
Two, it's self-defending
against sneak landings. Nothing
remotely human can land
on it except in heavy lead armor,
and even in that can stay
healthy for only a few minutes."</p>

<p>"Except in the city. Omlu.
That's the weak point and
would be the point of attack."</p>

<p>"Uh-uh. Cut off the decontaminators
and in five hours
it'll be as hot as the rest of
the planet. Three, there'd be
no interstellar supply line for
the Stretts to cut. Four, the
environment matches our new
physiques a lot better than
any normal planet could."</p>

<p>"That's the one I didn't
think about."</p>

<p>"I think I'll take a quick
peek at the Stretts&mdash;oh-oh;
they've screened their whole
planet. Well, we can do that,
too, of course."</p>

<p>"How are you going to select
and reject personnel? It
looks as though everybody
wants to stay. Even the men
whose main object in life is
to go aground and get drunk.
The Omans do altogether too
good a job on them and there's
no such thing as a hangover.
I'm glad I'm not in your
boots."</p>

<p>"You may be in it up to the
eyeballs, Skipper, so don't
chortle too soon."</p>

<p>Hilton had already devoted
much time to the problems of
selection; and he thought of
little else all the way back to
Ardry. And for several days
afterward he held conferences
with small groups and conducted
certain investigations.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">BUD Carroll of Sociology
and his assistant Sylvia
Banister had been married for
weeks. Hilton called them, together
with Sawtelle and Bryant
of Navy, into conference
with the Big Eight.</p>

<p>"The more I study this
thing the less I like it," Hilton
said. "With a civilization
having no government, no police,
no laws, no medium of
exchange ..."</p>

<p>"No <i>money</i>?" Bryant exclaimed.
"How's old Gordon
going to pay for his uranexite,
then?"</p>

<p>"He gets it free," Hilton
replied, flatly. "When anyone
can have anything he wants,
merely by wanting it, what
good is money? Now, remembering
how long we're going
to have to live, what we'll be
up against, that the Masters
failed, and so on, it is clear
that the prime basic we have
to select for is stability. We
twelve have, by psychodynamic
measurement, the highest
stability ratings available."</p>

<p>"Are you sure <i>I</i> belong
here?" Bryant asked.</p>

<p>"Yes. Here are three lists."
Hilton passed papers around.
"The list labeled 'OK' names
those I'm sure of&mdash;the ones
we're converting now and
their wives and whatever on
Terra. List 'NG' names the
ones I know we don't want.
List 'X'&mdash;over thirty percent&mdash;are
in-betweeners. We have
to make a decision on the 'X'
list. So&mdash;what I want to know
is, who's going to play God.
I'm not. Sandy, are you?"</p>

<p>"Good Heavens, no!" Sandra
shuddered. "But I'm
afraid I know who will have
to. I'm sorry, Alex, but it'll
have to be you four&mdash;Psychology
and Sociology."</p>

<p>Six heads nodded and there
was a flashing interchange of
thought among the four. Temple
licked her lips and nodded,
and Kincaid spoke.</p>

<p>"Yes, I'm afraid it's our
baby. By leaning very heavily
on Temple, we can do it. Remember,
Jarve, what you said
about the irresistible force?
We'll need it."</p>

<p>"As I said once before, Mrs.
Hilton, I'm very glad you're
along," Hilton said. "But just
how sure are you that even
you can stand up under the
load?"</p>

<p>"Alone, I couldn't. But
don't underestimate Mrs. Carroll
and the Messrs. Together,
and with such a goal, I'm sure
we can."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THUS, after four-fifths of
his own group and forty-one
Navy men had been converted,
Hilton called an evening
meeting of all the converts.
Larry, Tuly and Javvy
were the only Omans present.</p>

<p>"You all knew, of course,
that we were going to move
to Fuel Bin sometime," Hilton
began. "I can tell you
now that we who are here are
all there are going to be of
us. We are all leaving for Fuel
Bin immediately after this
meeting. Everything of any
importance, including all of
your personal effects, has already
been moved. All Omans
except these three, and all
Oman ships except the <i>Orion</i>,
have already gone."</p>

<p>He paused to let the news
sink in.</p>

<p>Thoughts flew everywhere.
The irrepressible Stella Wing&mdash;<i>now</i>
Mrs. Osbert F. Harkins&mdash;was
the first to give
tongue. "What a <i>wonderful</i>
job! Why, everybody's here
that I really like at all!"</p>

<p>That sentiment was, of
course, unanimous. It could
not have been otherwise. Betty,
the ex-Ames, called out:</p>

<p>"How did you get their female
Omans away from Cecil
Calthorpe and the rest of that
chasing, booze-fighting bunch
without them blowing the
whole show?"</p>

<p>"Some suasion was necessary,"
Hilton admitted, with
a grin. "Everyone who isn't
here is time-locked into the
<i>Perseus</i>. Release time eight
hours tomorrow."</p>

<p>"And they'll wake up tomorrow
morning with no
Omans?" Bernadine tossed
back her silvery mane and
laughed. "Nor anything else
except the <i>Perseus</i>? In a way,
I'm sorry, but ... maybe I've
got too much stinker blood in
me, but I'm very glad none
of them are here. But I'd like
to ask, Jarvis&mdash;or rather, I
suppose you have already set
up a new Advisory Board?"</p>

<p>"We have, yes." Hilton read
off twelve names.</p>

<p>"Oh, nice. I don't know of
any people I'd rather have on
it. But what I want to gripe
about is calling our new home
world such a horrible name as
'Fuel Bin,' as though it were
a wood-box or a coal-scuttle
or something. And just think
of the complexes it would set
up in those super-children
we're going to have so many
of."</p>

<p>"What would you suggest?"
Hilton asked.</p>

<p>"'Ardvor', of course," Hermione
said, before her sister
could answer. "We've had
'Arth' and 'Ardu' and 'Ardry'
and you&mdash;or somebody&mdash;started
calling us 'Ardans' to distinguish
us converts from the
Terrans. So let's keep up the
same line."</p>

<p>There was general laughter
at that, but the name was approved.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">ABOUT midnight the meeting
ended and the <i>Orion</i>
set out for Ardvor. It
reached it and slanted sharply
downward. The whole BuSci
staff was in the lounge, watching
the big tri-di.</p>

<p>"Hey! That isn't Omlu!"
Stella exclaimed. "It isn't a
city at all and it isn't even
in the same place!"</p>

<p>"No, ma'am," Larry said.
"Most of you wanted the
ocean, but many wanted a river
or the mountains. Therefore
we razed Omlu and built
your new city, Ardane, at a
place where the ocean, two
rivers, and a range of mountains
meet. Strictly speaking,
it is not a city, but a place of
pleasant and rewardful living."</p>

<p>The space-ship was coming
in, low and fast, from the
south. To the left, the west,
there stretched the limitless
expanse of ocean. To the
right, mile after mile, were
rough, rugged, jagged, partially-timbered
mountains, mass
piled upon mass. Immediately
below the speeding vessel was
a wide, white-sand beach all
of ten miles long.</p>

<p>Slowing rapidly now, the
<i>Orion</i> flew along due north.</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 359px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:e:edward-smith-masters-of-space-003.png" width="359" height="550" alt="" title="" />
</div>

<p>"Look! Look! A natatorium!"
Beverly shrieked. "I
know I wanted a nice big
place to swim in, besides my
backyard pool and the ocean,
but I didn't tell anybody to
build <i>that</i>&mdash;I swear I didn't!"</p>

<p>"You didn't have to, pet."
Poynter put his arm around
her curvaceous waist and
squeezed. "They knew. And I
did a little thinking along that
line myself. There's our
house, on top of the cliff over
the natatorium&mdash;you can almost
dive into it off the
patio."</p>

<p>"Oh, wonderful!"</p>

<p>Immediately north of the
natatorium a tremendous river&mdash;named
at first sight
the "Whitewater"&mdash;rushed
through its gorge into the
ocean; a river and gorge
strangely reminiscent of the
Colorado and its Grand Canyon.
On the south bank of
that river, at its very mouth&mdash;looking
straight up that tremendous
canyon; on a rocky
promontory commanding
ocean and beach and mountains&mdash;there
was a house. At
the sight of it Temple hugged
Hilton's arm in ecstasy.</p>

<p>"Yes, that's ours," he assured
her. "Just about everything
either of us has ever
wanted." The clamor was now
so great&mdash;everyone was recognizing
his-and-her house and
was exclaiming about it&mdash;that
both Temple and Hilton fell
silent and simply watched the
scenery unroll.</p>

<p>Across the turbulent Whitewater
and a mile farther
north, the mountains ended as
abruptly as though they had
been cut off with a cleaver
and an apparently limitless expanse
of treeless, grassy
prairie began. And through
that prairie, meandering sluggishly
to the ocean from the
northeast, came the wide, deep
River Placid.</p>

<p>The <i>Orion</i> halted. It began
to descend vertically, and only
then did Hilton see the spaceport.
It was so vast, and there
were so many spaceships on it,
that from any great distance
it was actually invisible! Each
six-acre bit of the whole immense
expanse of level prairie
between the Placid and the
mountains held an Oman superdreadnought!</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE staff paired off and
headed for the airlocks.
Hilton said: "Temple, have
you any reservations at all,
however slight, as to having
Dark Lady as a permanent fixture
in your home?"</p>

<p>"Why, of course not&mdash;I
like her as much as you do.
And besides&mdash;" she giggled
like a schoolgirl&mdash;"even if she
<i>is</i> a lot more beautiful than I
am&mdash;I've got a few things she
never will have ... but there's
something else. I got just a
flash of it before you blocked.
Spill it, please."</p>

<p>"You'll see in a minute."
And she did.</p>

<p>Larry, Dark Lady and Temple's
Oman maid Moty were
standing beside the Hilton's
car&mdash;and so was another
Oman, like none ever before
seen. Six feet four; shoulders
that would just barely go
through a door; muscled like
Atlas and Hercules combined;
skin a gleaming, satiny
bronze; hair a rippling mass
of lambent flame. Temple
came to a full stop and caught
her breath.</p>

<p>"The Prince," she breathed,
in awe. "Da Lormi's Prince
of Thebes. The ultimate
bronze of all the ages. <i>You</i>
did this, Jarve. How did you
ever dig him up out of my
schoolgirl crushes?"</p>

<p>All six got into the car,
which was equally at home on
land or water or in the air.
In less than a minute they
were at Hilton House.</p>

<p>The house itself was circular.
Its living-room was an immense
annulus of glass from
which, by merely moving
along its circular length, any
desired view could be had.
The pair walked around it
once. Then she took him by
the arm and steered him firmly
toward one of the bedrooms
in the center.</p>

<p>"This house is just too
much to take in all at once,"
she declared. "Besides, let's
put on our swimsuits and get
over to the Nat."</p>

<p>In the room, she closed the
door firmly in the faces of the
Omans and grinned. "Maybe,
sometime, I'll get used to having
somebody besides you in
my bedroom, but I haven't,
yet.... Oh, do you itch, too?"</p>

<p>Hilton had peeled to the
waist and was scratching vigorously
all around his waistline,
under his belt. "Like the
very devil," he admitted, and
stared at her. For she, three-quarters
stripped, was scratching,
too!</p>

<p>"It started the minute we
left the <i>Orion</i>," he said,
thoughtfully. "I see. These
new skins of ours like hard
radiation, but don't like to be
smothered while they're enjoying
it. By about tomorrow,
we'll be a nudist colony, I
think."</p>

<p>"I could stand it, I suppose.
What makes you think so?"</p>

<p>"Just what I know about
radiation. Frank would be the
one to ask. My hunch is,
though, that we're going to be
nudists whether we want to
or not. Let's go."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THEY went in a two-seater,
leaving the Omans at home.
Three-quarters of the staff
were lolling on the sand or
were seated on benches beside
the immense pool. As they
watched, Beverly ran out
along the line of springboards;
testing each one and
selecting the stiffest. She then
climbed up to the top platform&mdash;a
good twelve feet
above the board&mdash;and plummeted
down upon the board's
heavily padded take-off. Legs
and back bending stubbornly
to take the strain, she and the
board reached low-point together,
and, still in sync with
it, she put every muscle she
had into the effort to hurl
herself upward.</p>

<p>She had intended to go up
thirty feet. But she had no
idea whatever as to her present
strength, or of what that
Oman board, in perfect synchronization
with that tremendous
strength, would do.
Thus, instead of thirty feet,
she went up very nearly two
hundred; which of course
spoiled completely her proposed
graceful two-and-a-half.</p>

<p>In midair she struggled
madly to get into some acceptable
position. Failing, she
curled up into a tight ball
just before she struck water.</p>

<p><i>What</i> a splash!</p>

<p>"It won't hurt her&mdash;you
couldn't hurt her with a
club!" Hilton snapped. He
seized Temple's hand as everyone
else rushed to the pool's
edge. "Look&mdash;Bernadine&mdash;that's
what I was thinking
about."</p>

<p>Temple stopped and looked.
The platinum-haired twins
had been basking on the sand,
and wherever sand had
touched fabric, fabric had disappeared.</p>

<p>Their suits had of course
approached the minimum to
start with. Now Bernadine
wore only a wisp of nylon
perched precariously on one
breast and part of a ribbon
that had once been a belt. Discovering
the catastrophe, she
shrieked once and leaped into
the pool any-which-way, covering
her breasts with her
hands and hiding in water up
to her neck.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, the involuntarily
high diver had come to the
surface, laughing apologetically.
Surprised by the hair dangling
down over her eyes, she
felt for her cap. It was gone.
So was her suit. Naked as a
fish. She swam a couple of
easy strokes, then stopped.</p>

<p>"Frank! Oh, Frank!" she
called.</p>

<p>"Over here, Bev." Her husband
did not quite know
whether to laugh or not.</p>

<p>"Is it the radiation or the
water? Or both?"</p>

<p>"Radiation, I think. These
new skins of ours don't want
to be covered up. But it probably
makes the water a pretty
good imitation of a universal
solvent."</p>

<p>"Good-by, clothes!" Beverly
rolled over onto her back,
fanned water carefully with
her hands, and gazed approvingly
at herself. "I don't itch
any more, anyway, so I'm very
much in favor of it."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THUS the Ardans came to
their new home world and
to a life that was to be more
comfortable by far and happier
by far than any of them
had known on Earth. There
were many other surprises
that day, of course; of which
only two will be mentioned
here. When they finally left
the pool, at about seventeen
hours G.M.T.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>, everybody
was ravenously hungry.</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Greenwich Mean Time. Ardvor
was, always and everywhere, full
daylight. Terran time and calendar
were adapted as a matter of
course.</p></div>

<p>"But why <i>should</i> we be?"
Stella demanded. "I've been
eating everything in sight,
just for fun. But now I'm actually
hungry enough to eat a
horse and wagon and chase
the driver!"</p>

<p>"Swimming makes everybody
hungry," Beverly said,
"and I'm awfully glad <i>that</i>
hasn't changed. Why, I
wouldn't feel <i>human</i> if I
didn't!"</p>

<p>Hilton and Temple went
home, and had a long-drawn-out
and very wonderful supper.
Prince waited on Temple,
Dark Lady on Hilton;
Larry and Moty ran the synthesizers
in the kitchen. All
four Omans radiated happiness.</p>

<p>Another surprise came
when they went to bed. For
the bed was a raised platform
of something that looked like
concrete and, except for an
uncanny property of molding
itself somewhat to the contours
of their bodies, was almost
as hard as rock. Nevertheless,
it was the most comfortable
bed either of them
had ever had. When they
were ready to go to sleep,
Temple said:</p>

<p>"Drat it, those Omans <i>still</i>
want to come in and sleep
with us. In the room, I mean.
And they suffer so. They're
simply <i>radiating</i> silent suffering
and oh-so-submissive
reproach. Shall we let 'em
come in?"</p>

<p>"That's strictly up to you,
sweetheart. It always has
been."</p>

<p>"I know. I thought they'd
quit it sometime, but I guess
they never will. I <i>still</i> want
an illusion of privacy at
times, even though they know
all about everything that
goes on. But we might let 'em
in now, just while we sleep,
and throw 'em out again as
soon as we wake up in the
morning?"</p>

<p>"You're the boss." Without
additional invitation the four
Omans came in and arranged
themselves neatly on the
floor, on all four sides of the
bed. Temple had barely time
to cuddle up against Hilton,
and he to put his arm closely
around her, before they both
dropped into profound and
dreamless sleep.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AT eight hours next morning
all the specialists met
at the new Hall of Records.</p>

<p>This building, an exact duplicate
of the old one, was located
on a mesa in the foothills
southwest of the natatorium,
in a luxuriant grove
at sight of which Karns
stopped and began to laugh.</p>

<p>"I thought I'd seen everything,"
he remarked. "But
yellow pine, spruce, tamarack,
apples, oaks, palms, oranges,
cedars, joshua trees
and <i>cactus</i>&mdash;just to name a
few&mdash;all growing on the same
quarter-section of land?"</p>

<p>"Just everything anybody
wants, is all," Hilton said.
"But are they really growing?
Or just straight synthetics?
Lane&mdash;Kathy&mdash;this
is your dish."</p>

<p>"Not so fast, Jarve; give
us a chance, <i>please</i>!" Kathryn,
now Mrs. Lane Saunders,
pleaded. She shook her spectacular
head. "We don't see
how any stable indigenous
life can have developed at all,
unless ..."</p>

<p>"Unless what? Natural
shielding?" Hilton asked, and
Kathy eyed her husband.</p>

<p>"Right," Saunders said.
"The earliest life-forms must
have developed a shield before
they could evolve and
stabilize. Hence, whatever it
is that is in our skins was not
a triumph of Masters' science.
They took it from Nature."</p>

<p>"Oh? Oh!" These were two
of Sandra's most expressive
monosyllables, followed by a
third. "Oh. Could be, at that.
But how <i>could</i> ... no, cancel
that."</p>

<p>"You'd better cancel it,
Sandy. Give us a couple of
months, and <i>maybe</i> we can
answer a few elementary
questions."</p>

<p>Now inside the Hall, all
the teams, from Astronomy to
Zoology, went efficiently to
work. Everyone now knew
what to look for, how to find
it, and how to study it.</p>

<p>"The First Team doesn't
need you now too much, does
it, Jarve?" Sawtelle asked.</p>

<p>"Not particularly. In fact,
I was just going to get back
onto my own job."</p>

<p>"Not yet. I want to talk to
you," and the two went into a
long discussion of naval affairs.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>XI</h2>


<p class="cap">THE Stretts' fuel-supply
line had been cut long
since. Many Strett cargo-carriers
had been destroyed.
The enemy would of course
have a very heavy reserve of
fuel on hand. But there was
no way of knowing how
large it was, how many warships
it could supply, or how
long it would last.</p>

<p>Two facts were, however,
unquestionable. First, the
Stretts were building a fleet
that in their minds would be
invincible. Second, they
would attack Ardane as soon
as that fleet could be made
ready. The unanswerable
question was: how long
would that take?</p>

<p>"So we want to get every
ship we have. How many?
Five thousand? Ten? Fifteen?
We want them converted
to maximum possible power
as soon as we possibly
can," Sawtelle said. "And I
want to get out there with
my boys to handle things."</p>

<p>"You aren't going to. Neither
you nor your boys
are expendable. Particularly
you." Jaw hard-set, Hilton
studied the situation for
minutes. "No. What we'll do
is take your Oman, Kedy.
We'll re-set the Guide to
drive into him everything
you and the military Masters
ever knew about arms, armament,
strategy, tactics and so
on. And we'll add everything
I know of coordination, synthesis,
and perception. That
ought to make him at least
a junior-grade military genius."</p>

<p>"You can play <i>that</i> in
spades. I wish you could do
it to me."</p>

<p>"I can&mdash;if you'll take
the full Oman transformation.
Nothing else can stand
the punishment."</p>

<p>"I know. No, I don't want
to be a genius that badly."</p>

<p>"Check. And we'll take the
resultant Kedy and make
nine duplicates of him. Each
one will learn from and profit
by the mistakes made by
preceding numbers and will
assume command the instant
his preceding number is
killed."</p>

<p>"Oh, you expect, then...?"</p>

<p>"Expect? No. I know it
damn well, and so do you.
That's why we Ardans will
all stay aground. Why the
Kedys' first job will be to
make the heavy stuff in and
around Ardane as heavy as it
can be made. Why it'll all be
on twenty-four-hour alert.
Then they can put as
many thousands of Omans as
you please to work at modernizing
all the Oman ships
you want and doing anything
else you say. Check?"</p>

<p>Sawtelle thought for a
couple of minutes. "A few
details, is all. But that can be
ironed out as we go along."</p>

<p>Both men worked then, almost
unremittingly for six
solid days; at the end of
which time both drew tremendous
sighs of relief.
They had done everything
possible for them to do. The
defense of Ardvor was now
rolling at fullest speed toward
its gigantic objective.</p>

<p>Then captain and director,
in two Oman ships with fifty
men and a thousand Omans,
leaped the world-girdling
ocean to the mining operation
of the Stretts. There
they found business strictly
as usual. The strippers still
stripped; the mining mechs
still roared and snarled their
inchwise ways along their
geometrically perfect terraces;
the little carriers still
skittered busily between the
various miners and the storage
silos. The fact that there
was enough concentrate on
hand to last a world for a
hundred years made no difference
at all to these automatics;
a crew of erector-mechs
was building new silos
as fast as existing ones were
being filled.</p>

<p>Since the men now understood
everything that was going
on, it was a simple matter
for them to stop the whole
Strett operation in its tracks.
Then every man and every
Oman leaped to his assigned
job. Three days later, all the
mechs went back to work.
Now, however, they were
working for the Ardans.</p>

<p>The miners, instead of
concentrate, now emitted
vastly larger streams of
Navy-Standard pelleted uranexite.
The carriers, instead
of one-gallon cans, carried
five-ton drums. The silos
were immensely larger&mdash;thirty
feet in diameter and
towering two hundred feet
into the air. The silos were
not, however, being used as
yet. One of the two Oman
ships had been converted into
a fuel-tanker and its yawning
holds were being filled first.</p>

<p>The <i>Orion</i> went back to
Ardane and an eight-day wait
began. For the first time in
over seven months Hilton
found time actually to loaf;
and he and Temple, lolling
on the beach or hiking in the
mountains, enjoyed themselves
and each other to the
full.</p>

<p>All too soon, however, the
heavily laden tanker appeared
in the sky over Ardane.
The <i>Orion</i> joined it;
and the two ships slipped into
sub-space for Earth.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THREE days out, Hilton
used his sense of perception
to release the thought-controlled
blocks that had
been holding all the controls
of the <i>Perseus</i> in neutral. He
informed her officers&mdash;by releasing
a public-address tape&mdash;that
they were now free to
return to Terra.</p>

<p>Three days later, one day
short of Sol, Sawtelle got
Five-Jet Admiral Gordon's
office on the sub-space radio.
An officious underling tried
to block him, of course.</p>

<p>"Shut up, Perkins, and listen,"
Sawtelle said, bruskly.
"Tell Gordon I'm bringing in
one hundred twenty thousand
two hundred forty-five metric
tons of pelleted uranexite.
And if he isn't on this
beam in sixty seconds he'll
never get a gram of it."</p>

<p>The admiral, outraged almost
to the point of apoplexy,
came in. "Sawtelle, report
yourself for court-martial
at ..."</p>

<p>"Keep still, Gordon," the
captain snapped. In sheer astonishment
old Five-Jets
obeyed. "I am no longer Terran
Navy; no longer subject
to your orders. As a matter
of cold fact, I am no longer
human. For reasons which I
will explain later to the full
Advisory Board, some of the
personnel of Project Theta
Orionis underwent transformation
into a form of life
able to live in an environment
of radioactivity so intense as
to kill any human being in
ten seconds. Under certain
conditions we will supply,
free of charge, FOB Terra
or Luna, all the uranexite the
Solar System can use. The
conditions are these," and he
gave them. "Do you accept
these conditions or not?"</p>

<p>"I ... I would vote to accept
them, Captain. But that
weight! One hundred twenty
thousand <i>metric tons</i>&mdash;incredible!
Are you <i>sure</i> of
that figure?"</p>

<p>"Definitely. And that is
minimum. The error is plus,
not minus."</p>

<p>"This crippling power-shortage
would really be
over?" For the first time
since Sawtelle had known
him, Gordon showed that he
was not quite solid Navy
brass.</p>

<p>"It's over. Definitely. For
good."</p>

<p>"I'd not only agree; I'd
raise you a monument. While
I can't speak for the Board,
I'm sure they'll agree."</p>

<p>"So am I. In any event,
your cooperation is all that's
required for this first load."
The chips had vanished from
Sawtelle's shoulders. "Where
do you want it, Admiral?
Aristarchus or White
Sands?"</p>

<p>"White Sands, please.
While there may be some delay
in releasing it to industry ..."</p>

<p>"While they figure out
how much they can tax it?"
Sawtelle asked, sardonically.</p>

<p>"Well, if they don't tax it
it'll be the first thing in history
that isn't. Have you any
objections to releasing all this
to the press?"</p>

<p>"None at all. The harder
they hit it and the wider they
spread it, the better. Will you
have this beam switched to
Astrogation, please?"</p>

<p>"Of course. And thanks,
Captain. I'll see you at White
Sands."</p>

<p>Then, as the now positively
glowing Gordon faded away,
Sawtelle turned to his own
staff. "Fenway&mdash;Snowden&mdash;take
over. Better double-check
micro-timing with Astro.
Put us into a twenty-four-hour
orbit over White
Sands and hold us there. We
won't go down. Let the load
down on remote, wherever
they want it."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE arrival of the Ardvorian
superdreadnought <i>Orion</i>
and the <i>UC-1</i> (Uranexite
Carrier Number One) was
one of the most sensational
events old Earth had ever
known. Air and space craft
went clear out to Emergence
Volume Ninety to meet them.
By the time the <i>UC-1</i> was
coming in on its remote-controlled
landing spiral the
press of small ships was so
great that all the police forces
available were in a lather
trying to control it.</p>

<p>This was exactly what Hilton
had wanted. It made possible
the completely unobserved
launching of several
dozen small craft from the
<i>Orion</i> herself.</p>

<p>One of these made a very
high and very fast flight to
Chicago. With all due formality
and under the aegis of
a perfectly authentic Registry
Number it landed on
O'Hare Field. Eleven deeply
tanned young men emerged
from it and made their way
to a taxi stand, where each
engaged a separate vehicle.</p>

<p>Sam Bryant stepped into
his cab, gave the driver a
number on Oakwood Avenue
in Des Plaines, and settled
back to scan. He was lucky.
He would have gone anywhere
she was, of course, but
the way things were, he could
give her a little warning to
soften the shock. She had
taken the baby out for an airing
down River Road, and
was on her way back. By having
the taxi kill ten minutes
or so he could arrive just after
she did. Wherefore he
stopped the cab at a public
communications booth and
dialed his home.</p>

<p>"Mrs. Bryant is not at
home, but she will return at
fifteen thirty," the instrument
said, crisply. "Would
you care to record a message
for her?"</p>

<p>He punched the RECORD
button. "This is Sam, Dolly
baby. I'm right behind you.
Turn around, why don't you,
and tell your ever-lovin' star-hoppin'
husband hello?"</p>

<p>The taxi pulled up at the
curb just as Doris closed the
front door; and Sam, after
handing the driver a five-dollar
bill, ran up the walk.</p>

<p>He waited just outside the
door, key in hand, while she
lowered the stroller handle,
took off her hat and by long-established
habit reached out
to flip the communicator's
switch. At the first word,
however, she stiffened rigidly&mdash;froze
solid.</p>

<p>Smiling, he opened the
door, walked in, and closed it
behind him. Nothing short of
a shotgun blast could have
taken Doris Bryant's attention
from that recorder then.</p>

<p>"That simply is not so," she
told the instrument firmly,
with both eyes resolutely
shut. "They made him stay on
the <i>Perseus</i>. He won't be in
for at least three days. This
is some cretin's idea of a
joke."</p>

<p>"Not this time, Dolly honey.
It's really me."</p>

<p>Her eyes popped open as
she whirled. "SAM!" she
shrieked, and hurled herself
at him with all the pent-up
ardor and longing of two
hundred thirty-four meticulously
counted, husbandless,
loveless days.</p>

<p>After an unknown length
of time Sam tipped her face
up by the chin, nodded at the
stroller, and said, "How about
introducing me to the little
stranger?"</p>

<p>"<i>What</i> a mother I turned
out to be! That was the first
thing I was going to rave
about, the very first thing I
saw you! Samuel Jay the
Fourth, seventy-six days old
today." And so on.</p>

<p>Eventually, however, the
proud young mother watched
the slightly apprehensive
young father carry their
first-born upstairs; where together,
they put him&mdash;still
sound asleep&mdash;to bed in his
crib. Then again they were in
each other's arms.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">SOME time later, she twisted
around in the circle of
his arm and tried to dig her
fingers into the muscles of
his back. She then attacked
his biceps and, leaning backward,
eyed him intently.</p>

<p>"You're you, I know, but
you're different. No athlete
or any laborer could ever
possibly get the muscles you
have all over. To say nothing
of a space officer on duty.
And I know it isn't any kind
of a disease. You've been acting
all the time as though I
were fragile, made out of
glass or something&mdash;as
though you were afraid of
breaking me in two. So&mdash;what
is it, sweetheart?"</p>

<p>"I've been trying to figure
out an easy way of telling
you, but there isn't any. I am
different. I'm a hundred
times as strong as any man
ever was. Look." He upended
a chair, took one heavy hardwood
leg between finger and
thumb and made what looked
like a gentle effort to bend
it. The leg broke with a pistol-sharp
report and Doris
leaped backward in surprise.
"So you're right. I <i>am</i> afraid,
not only of breaking you in
two, but killing you. And if I
break any of your ribs or
arms or legs I'll never forgive
myself. So if I let myself go
for a second&mdash;I don't think I
will, but I might&mdash;don't wait
until you're really hurt to
start screaming. Promise?"</p>

<p>"I promise." Her eyes went
wide. "But <i>tell</i> me!"</p>

<p>He told her. She was in
turn surprised, amazed, apprehensive,
frightened and
finally eager; and she became
more and more eager
right up to the end.</p>

<p>"You mean that we ... that
I'll stay just as I am&mdash;for
thousands of <i>years</i>?"</p>

<p>"Just as you are. Or different,
if you like. If you really
mean any of this yelling
you've been doing about being
too big in the hips&mdash;I
think you're exactly right,
myself&mdash;you can rebuild
yourself any way you please.
Or change your shape every
hour on the hour. But you
haven't accepted my invitation
yet."</p>

<p>"Don't be silly." She went
into his arms again and nibbled
on his left ear. "I'd go
anywhere with you, of course,
any time, but <i>this</i>&mdash;but you're
positively <i>sure</i> Sammy Small
will be all right?"</p>

<p>"Positively sure."</p>

<p>"Okay, I'll call mother...."
Her face fell. "I <i>can't</i> tell her
that we'll never see them
again and that we'll live ..."</p>

<p>"You don't need to. She
and Pop&mdash;Fern and Sally,
too, and their boy-friends&mdash;are
on the list. Not this time,
but in a month or so, probably."</p>

<p>Doris brightened like a
sunburst. "And your folks,
too, of course?" she asked.</p>

<p>"Yes, all the close ones."</p>

<p>"Marvelous! How soon are
we leaving?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">AT six o'clock next morning,
two hundred thirty-five
days after leaving Earth,
Hilton and Sawtelle set out
to make the Ardans' official
call upon Terra's Advisory
Board. Both were wearing
prodigiously heavy lead armor,
the inside of which was
furiously radioactive. They
did not need it, of course. But
it would make all Ardans
monstrous in Terran eyes
and would conceal the fact
that any other Ardans were
landing.</p>

<p>Their gig was met at the
spaceport; not by a limousine,
but by a five-ton truck,
into which they were loaded
one at a time by a hydraulic
lift. Cameras clicked, reporters
scurried, and tri-di scanners
whirred. One of those
scanners, both men knew,
was reporting directly and
only to the Advisory Board&mdash;which,
of course, never
took anything either for
granted or at its face value.</p>

<p>Their first stop was at a
truck-scale, where each visitor
was weighed. Hilton tipped
the beam at four thousand six
hundred fifteen pounds;
Sawtelle, a smaller man,
weighed in at four thousand
one hundred ninety. Thence
to the Radiation Laboratory,
where it was ascertained and
reported that the armor did
not leak&mdash;which was reasonable
enough, since each was
lined with Masters' plastics.</p>

<p>Then into lead-lined testing
cells, where each opened
his face-plate briefly to a
sensing element. Whereupon
the indicating needles of two
meters in the main laboratory
went enthusiastically through
the full range of red and
held unwaveringly against
their stops.</p>

<p>Both Ardans felt the wave
of shocked, astonished, almost
unbelieving consternation
that swept through the
observing scientists and, in
slightly lesser measure (because
they knew less about
radiation) through the Advisory
Board itself in a big
room halfway across town.
And from the Radiation Laboratory
they were taken, via
truck and freight elevator, to
the Office of the Commandant,
where the Board was sitting.</p>

<p>The story, which had been
sent in to the Board the day
before on a scrambled beam,
was one upon which the Ardans
had labored for days.
Many facts could be withheld.
However, every man
aboard the <i>Perseus</i> would
agree on some things. Indeed,
the Earthship's communications
officers had undoubtedly
radioed in already about
longevity and perfect health
and Oman service and many
other matters. Hence all such
things would have to be admitted
and countered.</p>

<p>Thus the report, while it
was air-tight, perfectly logical,
perfectly consistent, and
apparently complete, did not
please the Board at all. It
wasn't intended to.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"WE cannot and do not
approve of such unwarranted
favoritism," the
Chairman of the Board said.
"Longevity has always been
man's prime goal. Every human
being has the inalienable
right to ..."</p>

<p>"Flapdoodle!" Hilton snorted.
"This is not being broadcast
and this room is proofed,
so please climb down off your
soapbox. You don't need to
talk like a politician here.
Didn't you read paragraph
12-A-2, one of the many
marked 'Top Secret'?"</p>

<p>"Of course. But we do not
understand how purely mental
qualities can possibly have
any effect upon purely physical
transformations. Thus it
does not seem reasonable that
any except rigorously
screened personnel would die
in the process. That is, of
course, unless you contemplate
deliberate, cold-blooded
murder."</p>

<p>That stopped Hilton in his
tracks, for it was too close for
comfort to the truth. But it
did not hold the captain for
an instant. He was used to
death, in many of its grisliest
forms.</p>

<p>"There are a lot of things
no Terran ever will understand,"
Sawtelle replied instantly.
"Reasonable, or not,
that's exactly what will happen.
And, reasonable or not,
it'll be suicide, not murder.
There isn't a thing that either
Hilton or I can do about it."</p>

<p>Hilton broke the ensuing
silence. "You can say with
equal truth that every human
being has the <i>right</i> to run a
four-minute mile or to compose
a great symphony. It
isn't a matter of right at all,
but of ability. In this case the
mental qualities are even
more necessary than the
physical. You as a Board did
a very fine job of selecting
the BuSci personnel for Project
Theta Orionis. Almost
eighty per cent of them
proved able to withstand the
Ardan conversion. On the
other hand, only a very small
percentage of the Navy personnel
did so."</p>

<p>"Your report said that the
remaining personnel of the
Project were not informed as
to the death aspect of the
transformation," Admiral
Gordon said. "Why not?"</p>

<p>"That should be self-explanatory,"
Hilton said, flatly.
"They are still human and
still Terrans. We did not and
will not encroach upon either
the duties or the privileges of
Terra's Advisory Board.
What you tell all Terrans,
and how much, and how, must
be decided by yourselves.
This also applies, of course,
to the other 'Top Secret'
paragraphs of the report,
none of which are known to
any Terran outside the
Board."</p>

<p>"But you haven't said anything
about the method of selection,"
another Advisor
complained. "Why, that will
take all the psychologists of
the world, working full time;
continuously."</p>

<p>"We said we would do the
selecting. We meant just
that," Hilton said, coldly.
"No one except the very few
selectees will know anything
about it. Even if it were an
unmixed blessing&mdash;which it
very definitely is <i>not</i>&mdash;do you
want all humanity thrown
into such an uproar as that
would cause? Or the quite
possible racial inferiority
complex it might set up? To
say nothing of the question
of how much of Terra's best
blood do you want to drain
off, irreversibly and permanently?
No. What we suggest
is that you paint the picture
so black, using Sawtelle and
me and what all humanity
has just seen as horrible examples,
that nobody would
take it as a gift. Make them
shun it like the plague. Hell,
I don't have to tell you what
your propaganda machines
can do."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE Chairman of the
Board again mounted his
invisible rostrum. "Do you
mean to intimate that we are
to falsify the record?" he declaimed.
"To try to make liars
out of hundreds of eyewitnesses?
You ask us to distort
the truth, to connive at ..."</p>

<p>"We aren't asking you to
do <i>anything</i>!" Hilton
snapped. "We don't give a
damn what you do. Just study
that record, with all that it
implies. Read between the
lines. As for those on the
<i>Perseus</i>, no two of them will
tell the same story and not
one of them has even the remotest
idea of what the real
story is. I, personally, not
only did not want to become
a monster, but would have
given everything I had to
stay human. My wife felt the
same way. Neither of us
would have converted if
there'd been any other way
in God's universe of getting
the uranexite and doing some
other things that simply <i>must</i>
be done."</p>

<p>"What other things?" Gordon
demanded.</p>

<p>"You'll never know," Hilton
answered, quietly.
"Things no Terran ever will
know. We hope. Things that
would drive any Terran stark
mad. Some of them are hinted
at&mdash;as much as we dared&mdash;between
the lines of the report."</p>

<p>The report had not mentioned
the Stretts. Nor were
they to be mentioned now. If
the Ardans could stop them,
no Terran need ever know
anything about them.</p>

<p>If not, no Terran should
know anything about them
except what he would learn
for himself just before the
end. For Terra would never
be able to do anything to defend
herself against the
Stretts.</p>

<p>"Nothing whatever can
drive <i>me</i> mad," Gordon declared,
"and I want to know
all about it&mdash;right now!"</p>

<p>"You can do one of two
things, Gordon," Sawtelle
said in disgust. His sneer was
plainly visible through the
six-ply, plastic-backed lead
glass of his face-plate. "Either
shut up or accept my
personal invitation to come to
Ardvor and try to go through
the wringer. That's an invitation
to your own funeral."
Five-Jet Admiral Gordon,
torn inwardly to ribbons,
made no reply.</p>

<p>"I repeat," Hilton went on,
"we are not asking you to do
anything whatever. We are
offering to give you; free of
charge but under certain conditions,
all the power your
humanity can possibly use.
We set no limitation whatever
as to quantity and with
no foreseeable limit as to
time. The only point at issue
is whether or not you accept
the conditions. If you do not
accept them we'll leave now&mdash;and
the offer will not be repeated."</p>

<p>"And you would, I presume,
take the <i>UC-1</i> back
with you?"</p>

<p>"Of course not, sir. Terra
needs power too badly. You
are perfectly welcome to that
one load of uranexite, no
matter what is decided here."</p>

<p>"That's one way of putting
it," Gordon sneered. "But the
truth is that you know
damned well I'll blow both of
your ships out of space if you
so much as ..."</p>

<p>"Oh, chip-chop the jaw-flapping,
Gordon!" Hilton
snapped. Then, as the admiral
began to bellow orders
into his microphone, he went
on: "You want it the hard
way, eh? Watch what happens,
all of you!"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE <i>UC-1</i> shot vertically
into the air. Through its
shallow dense layer and into
and through the stratosphere.
Earth's fleet, already on full
alert and poised to strike,
rushed to the attack. But the
carrier had reached the <i>Orion</i>
and both Ardvorian ships had
been waiting, motionless, for
a good half minute before the
Terran warships arrived and
began to blast with everything
they had.</p>

<p>"Flashlights and firecrackers,"
Sawtelle said, calmly.
"You aren't even warming up
our screens. As soon as you
quit making a damned fool of
yourself by wasting energy
that way, we'll set the <i>UC-1</i>
back down where she was
and get on with our business
here."</p>

<p>"You will order a cease-fire
at once, Admiral," the chairman
said, "or the rest of us
will, as of now, remove you
from the Board." Gordon
gritted his teeth in rage, but
gave the order.</p>

<p>"If he hasn't had enough
yet to convince him," Hilton
suggested, "he might send up
a drone. We don't want to
kill anybody, you know. One
with the heaviest screening
he's got&mdash;just to see what
happens to it."</p>

<p>"He's had enough. The rest
of us have had more than
enough. That exhibition was
not only uncalled-for and
disgusting&mdash;it was outrageous!"</p>

<p>The meeting settled down,
then, from argument to constructive
discussion, and
many topics were gone over.
Certain matters were, however,
so self-evident that they
were not even mentioned.</p>

<p>Thus, it was a self-evident
fact that no Terran could ever
visit Ardvor; for the instrument-readings
agreed with
the report's statements as to
the violence of the Ardvorian
environment, and no Terran
could possibly walk around in
two tons of lead. Conversely,
it was self-apparent to the
Terrans that no Ardan could
ever visit Earth without being
recognized instantly for
what he was. Wearing such
armor made its necessity
starkly plain. No one from
the <i>Perseus</i> could say that
any Ardan, after having lived
on the furiously radiant surface
of Ardvor, would not be
as furiously radioactive as
the laboratory's calibrated instruments
had shown Hilton
and Sawtelle actually to be.</p>

<p>Wherefore the conference
went on, quietly and cooperatively,
to its planned end.</p>

<p>One minute after the Terran
battleship <i>Perseus</i>
emerged into normal space,
the <i>Orion</i> went into sub-space
for her long trip back
to Ardvor.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE last two days of that
seven-day trip were the
longest-seeming that either
Hilton or Sawtelle had ever
known. The sub-space radio
was on continuously and
Kedy-One reported to Sawtelle
every five minutes.
Even though Hilton knew
that the Oman commander-in-chief
was exactly as good
at perceiving as he himself
was, he found himself scanning
the thoroughly screened
Strett world forty or fifty
times an hour.</p>

<p>However, in spite of worry
and apprehension, time wore
eventlessly on. The <i>Orion</i>
emerged, went to Ardvor and
landed on Ardane Field.</p>

<p>Hilton, after greeting properly
and reporting to his
wife, went to his office.
There he found that Sandra
had everything well in hand
except for a few tapes that
only he could handle. Sawtelle
and his officers went to
the new Command Central,
where everything was rolling
smoothly and very much faster
than Sawtelle had dared
hope.</p>

<p>The Terran immigrants had
to live in the <i>Orion</i>, of
course, until conversion into
Ardans. Almost equally of
course&mdash;since the Bryant infant
was the only young baby
in the lot&mdash;Doris and her
Sammy Small were, by popular
acclaim, in the first batch
to be converted. For little
Sammy had taken the entire
feminine contingent by
storm. No Oman female had
a chance to act as nurse as
long as any of the girls were
around. Which was practically
all the time. Especially
the platinum-blonde twins;
for several months, now, Bernadine
Braden and Hermione
Felger.</p>

<p>"And you said they were so
hard-boiled," Doris said accusingly
to Sam, nodding at
the twins. On hands and
knees on the floor, head to
head with Sammy Small between
them, they were growling
deep-throated at each
other and nuzzling at the
baby, who was having the
time of his young life. "You
couldn't have been any
wronger, my sweet, if you'd
had the whole Octagon helping
you go astray. They're
just as nice as they can be,
both of them."</p>

<p>Sam shrugged and grinned.
His wife strode purposefully
across the room to the playful
pair and lifted their pretended
prey out from between
them.</p>

<p>"Quit it, you two," she directed,
swinging the baby up
and depositing him a-straddle
her left hip. "You're just
simply spoiling him rotten."</p>

<p>"You think so, Dolly? Uh-uh,
far be it from such." Bernadine
came lithely to her
feet. She glanced at her own
taut, trim abdomen; upon
which a micrometrically-precise
topographical mapping
job might have revealed an
otherwise imperceptible bulge.
"Just you wait until Junior
arrives and I'll show you
how to <i>really</i> spoil a baby.
Besides, what's the hurry?"</p>

<p>"He needs his supper. Vitamins
and minerals and hard
radiations and things, and
then he's going to bed. I don't
approve of this no-sleep business.
So run along, both of
you, until tomorrow."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>XII</h2>


<p class="cap">AS has been said, the
Stretts were working,
with all the intensity of their
monstrous but tremendously
capable minds, upon their
Great Plan; which was, basically,
to conquer and either
enslave or destroy every other
intelligent race throughout
all the length, breadth,
and thickness of total space.
To that end each individual
Strett had to become invulnerable
and immortal.</p>

<p>Wherefore, in the inconceivably
remote past, there
had been put into effect a
program of selective breeding
and of carefully-calculated
treatments. It was mathematically
certain that this program
would result in a race
of beings of pure force&mdash;beings
having no material constituents
remaining whatever.</p>

<p>Under those hellish treatments
billions upon billions of
Stretts had died. But the few
remaining thousands had almost
reached their sublime
goal. In a few more hundreds
of thousands of years perfection
would be reached. The
few surviving hundreds of
perfect beings could and
would multiply to any desired
number in practically no
time at all.</p>

<p>Hilton and his seven fellow-workers
had perceived all
this in their one and only
study of the planet Strett,
and every other Ardan had
been completely informed.</p>

<p>A dozen or so Strett Lords
of Thought, male and female,
were floating about in the atmosphere&mdash;which
was not air&mdash;of
their Assembly Hall.
Their heads were globes of
ball lightning. Inside them
could be seen quite plainly
the intricate convolutions of
immense, less-than-half-material
brains, shot through
and through with rods and
pencils and shapes of pure,
scintillating force.</p>

<p>And the bodies! Or, rather,
each horrendous brain had a
few partially material appendages
and appurtenances
recognizable as bodily organs.
There were no mouths,
no ears, no eyes, no noses or
nostrils, no lungs, no legs or
arms. There were, however,
hearts. Some partially material
ichor flowed through those
living-fire-outlined tubes.
There were starkly functional
organs of reproduction
with which, by no stretch of
the imagination, could any
thought of tenderness or of
love be connected.</p>

<p>It was a good thing for the
race, Hilton had thought at
first perception of the things,
that the Stretts had bred out
of themselves every iota of
the finer, higher attributes of
life. If they had not done so,
the impotence of sheer disgust
would have supervened so
long since that the race would
have been extinct for ages.</p>

<p>"Thirty-eight periods ago
the Great Brain was charged
with the sum total of Strettsian
knowledge," First Lord
Thinker Zoyar radiated to the
assembled Stretts. "For those
thirty-eight periods it has
been scanning, peyondiring,
amassing data and formulating
hypotheses, theories, and
conclusions. It has just informed
me that it is now
ready to make a preliminary
report. Great Brain, how
much of the total universe
have you studied?"</p>

<p>"This Galaxy only," the
Brain radiated, in a texture
of thought as hard and as
harsh as Zoyar's own.</p>

<p>"Why not more?"</p>

<p>"Insufficient power. My
first conclusion is that whoever
set up the specifications
for me is a fool."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">TO say that the First Lord
went out of control at this
statement is to put it very
mildly indeed. He fulminated,
ending with: "... destroyed
instantly!"</p>

<p>"Destroy me if you like,"
came the utterly calm, utterly
cold reply. "I am in no
sense alive. I have no consciousness
of self nor any desire
for continued existence.
To do so, however, would ..."</p>

<p>A flurry of activity interrupted
the thought. Zoyar
was in fact assembling the
forces to destroy the brain.
But, before he could act,
Second Lord Thinker Ynos
and another female blew him
into a mixture of loose molecules
and flaring energies.</p>

<p>"Destruction of any and all
irrational minds is mandatory,"
Ynos, now First Lord
Thinker, explained to the
linked minds. "Zoyar had
been becoming less and less
rational by the period. A good
workman does not causelessly
destroy his tools. Go
ahead, Great Brain, with your
findings."</p>

<p>"... not be logical." The
brain resumed the thought
exactly where it had been
broken off. "Zoyar erred in
demanding unlimited performance,
since infinite
knowledge and infinite ability
require not only infinite
capacity and infinite power,
but also infinite time. Nor is
it either necessary or desirable
that I should have such
qualities. There is no reasonable
basis for the assumption
that you Stretts will conquer
any significant number even
of the millions of intelligent
races now inhabiting this one
Galaxy."</p>

<p>"Why not?" Ynos demanded,
her thought almost, but
not quite, as steady and cold
as it had been.</p>

<p>"The answer to that question
is implicit in the second
indefensible error made in my
construction. The prime datum
impressed into my banks,
that the Stretts are in fact
the strongest, ablest, most intelligent
race in the universe,
proved to be false. I had to
eliminate it before I could do
any really constructive thinking."</p>

<p>A roar of condemnatory
thought brought all circumambient
ether to a boil. "Bah&mdash;destroy
it!" "Detestable!"
"Intolerable!" "If that is the
best it can do, annihilate it!"
"Far better brains have been
destroyed for much less!"
"Treason!" And so on.</p>

<p>First Lord Thinker Ynos,
however, remained relatively
calm. "While we have always
held it to be a fact that we
are the highest race in existence,
no rigorous proof has
been possible. Can you now
disprove that assumption?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I HAVE disproved it. I have
not had time to study all
of the civilizations of this
Galaxy, but I have examined
a statistically adequate sample
of one million seven hundred
ninety-two thousand four
hundred sixteen different
planetary intelligences. I
found one which is considerably
abler and more advanced
than you Stretts. Therefore
the probability is greater
than point nine nine that
there are not less than ten,
and not more than two hundred
eight, such races in this
Galaxy alone."</p>

<p>"Impossible!" Another
wave of incredulous and
threatening anger swept
through the linked minds; a
wave which Ynos flattened
out with some difficulty.</p>

<p>Then she asked: "Is it
probable that we will make
contact with this supposedly
superior race in the foreseeable
future?"</p>

<p>"You are in contact with it
now."</p>

<p>"<i>What?</i>" Even Ynos was
contemptuous now. "You
mean that one shipload of
despicable humans who&mdash;far
too late to do them any good&mdash;barred
us temporarily from
Fuel World?"</p>

<p>"Not exactly or only those
humans, no. And your assumptions
may or may not be
valid."</p>

<p>"Don't you <i>know</i> whether
they are or not?" Ynos
snapped. "Explain your uncertainty
at once!"</p>

<p>"I am uncertain because of
insufficient data," the brain
replied, calmly. "The only
pertinent facts of which I am
certain are: First, the world
Ardry, upon which the Omans
formerly lived and to which
the humans in question first
went&mdash;a planet which no
Strett can peyondire&mdash;is now
abandoned. Second, the
Stretts of old did not completely
destroy the humanity
of the world Ardu. Third,
some escapees from Ardu
reached and populated the
world Ardry. Fourth, the android
Omans were developed
on Ardry, by the human escapees
from Ardu and their
descendants. Fifth, the
Omans referred to those humans
as 'Masters.' Sixth, after
living on Ardry for a very
long period of time the Masters
went elsewhere. Seventh,
the Omans remaining on Ardry
maintained, continuously
and for a very long time, the
status quo left by the Masters.
Eighth, immediately
upon the arrival from Terra
of these present humans, that
long-existing status was broken.
Ninth, the planet called
Fuel World is, for the first
time, surrounded by a screen
of force. The formula of this
screen is as follows."</p>

<p>The brain gave it. No
Strett either complained or
interrupted. Each was too
busy studying that formula
and examining its stunning
implications and connotations.</p>

<p>"Tenth, that formula is one
full order of magnitude beyond
anything previously
known to your science.
Eleventh, it could not have
been developed by the science
of Terra, nor by that of
any other world whose population
I have examined."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE brain took the linked
minds instantaneously to
Terra; then to a few thousand
or so other worlds inhabited
by human beings;
then to a few thousands of
planets whose populations
were near-human, non-human
and monstrous.</p>

<p>"It is therefore clear," it
announced, "that this screen
was computed and produced
by the race, whatever it may
be, that is now dwelling on
Fuel World and asserting
full ownership of it."</p>

<p>"Who or what <i>is</i> that
race?" Ynos demanded.</p>

<p>"Data insufficient."</p>

<p>"Theorize, then!"</p>

<p>"Postulate that the Masters,
in many thousands of
cycles of study, made advances
in science that were
not reduced to practice; that
the Omans either possessed
this knowledge or had access
to it; and that Omans and
humans cooperated fully in
sharing and in working with
all the knowledges thus available.
From these three postulates
the conclusion can be
drawn that there has come
into existence a new race.
One combining the best
qualities of both humans and
Omans, but with the weaknesses
of neither."</p>

<p>"An unpleasant thought,
truly," Ynos thought. "But
you can now, I suppose, design
the generators and projectors
of a force superior to
that screen."</p>

<p>"Data insufficient. I can
equal it, since both generation
and projection are implicit in
the formula. But the data so
adduced are in themselves
vastly ahead of anything previously
in my banks."</p>

<p>"Are there any other races
in this Galaxy more powerful
than the postulated one now
living on Fuel World?"</p>

<p>"Data insufficient."</p>

<p>"Theorize, then!"</p>

<p>"Data insufficient."</p>

<p>The linked minds concentrated
upon the problem for
a period of time that might
have been either days or
weeks. Then:</p>

<p>"Great Brain, advise us,"
Ynos said. "What is best for
us to do?"</p>

<p>"With identical defensive
screens it becomes a question
of relative power. You should
increase the size and power
of your warships to something
beyond the computed
probable maximum of the
enemy. You should build
more ships and missiles than
they will probably be able to
build. Then and only then
will you attack their warships,
in tremendous force
and continuously."</p>

<p>"But not their planetary
defenses. I see." Ynos's
thought was one of complete
understanding. "And the <i>real</i>
offensive will be?"</p>

<p>"No mobile structure can
be built to mount mechanisms
of power sufficient to smash
down by sheer force of output
such tremendously powerful
installations as their
planet-based defenses must
be assumed to be. Therefore
the planet itself must be destroyed.
This will require a
missile of planetary mass.
The best such missile is the
tenth planet of their own
sun."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I SEE." Ynos's mind was
leaping ahead, considering
hundreds of possibilities
and making highly intricate
and involved computations.
"That will, however, require
many cycles of time and more
power than even our immense
reserves can supply."</p>

<p>"True. It will take much
time. The fuel problem, however,
is not a serious one,
since Fuel World is not
unique. Think on, First Lord
Ynos."</p>

<p>"We will attack in maximum
force and with maximum
violence. We will blanket
the planet. We will maintain
maximum force and violence
until most or all of the
enemy ships have been destroyed.
We will then install
planetary drives on Ten and
force it into collision orbit
with Fuel World, meanwhile
exerting extreme precautions
that not so much as a spy-beam
emerges above the enemy's
screen. Then, still maintaining
extreme precaution,
we will guard both planets
until the last possible moment
before the collision. Brain, it
cannot fail!"</p>

<p>"You err. It can fail. All
we actually know of the abilities
of this postulated neo-human
race is what I have
learned from the composition
of its defensive screen. The
probability approaches unity
that the Masters continued
to delve and to learn for millions
of cycles while you
Stretts, reasonlessly certain
of your supremacy, concentrated
upon your evolution
from the material to a non-material
form of life and performed
only limited research
into armaments of greater
and ever greater power."</p>

<p>"True. But that attitude
was then justified. It was not
and is not logical to assume
that any race would establish
a fixed status at any level of
ability below its absolute
maximum."</p>

<p>"While that conclusion
could once have been defensible,
it is now virtually certain
that the Masters had
stores of knowledge which
they may or may not have
withheld from the Omans,
but which were in some way
made available to the neo-humans.
Also, there is no
basis whatever for the assumption
that this new race
has revealed all its potentialities."</p>

<p>"Statistically, that is probably
true. But this is the best
plan you have been able to
formulate?"</p>

<p>"It is. Of the many thousands
of plans I set up and
tested, this one has the highest
probability of success."</p>

<p>"Then we will adopt it. We
are Stretts. Whatever we decide
upon will be driven
through to complete success.
We have one tremendous advantage
in you."</p>

<div class="figright" style="width: 367px;">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:e:edward-smith-masters-of-space-004.png" width="367" height="550" alt="" title="" />
</div>

<p>"Yes. The probability approaches
unity that I can perform
research on a vastly
wider and larger scale, and
almost infinitely faster, than
can any living organism or
any possible combination of
such organisms."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">NOR was the Great Brain
bragging. It scanned in
moments the stored scientific
knowledge of over a million
planets. It tabulated,
correlated, analyzed, synthesized,
theorized and concluded&mdash;all
in microseconds of
time. Thus it made more progress
in one Terran week
than the Masters had made
in a million years.</p>

<p>When it had gone as far as
it could go, it reported its results&mdash;and
the Stretts, hard
as they were and intransigent,
were amazed and overjoyed.
Not one of them had
ever even imagined such armaments
possible. Hence they
became supremely confident
that it was unmatched and
unmatchable throughout all
space.</p>

<p>What the Great Brain did
not know, however, and the
Stretts did not realize, was
that it could not really think.</p>

<p>Unlike the human mind, it
could not deduce valid theories
or conclusions from incomplete,
insufficient, fragmentary
data. It could not
leap gaps. Thus there was no
more actual assurance than
before that they had exceeded,
or even matched, the
weaponry of the neo-humans
of Fuel World.</p>

<p>Supremely confident, Ynos
said: "We will now discuss
every detail of the plan in
sub-detail, and will correlate
every sub-detail with every
other, to the end that every
action, however minor, will
be performed perfectly and
in its exact time."</p>

<p>That discussion, which
lasted for days, was held.
Hundreds of thousands of
new and highly specialized
mechs were built and went
furiously and continuously
to work. A fuel-supply line
was run to another uranexite-rich
planet.</p>

<p>Stripping machines
stripped away the surface
layers of soil, sand, rock and
low-grade ore. Giant miners
tore and dug and slashed and
refined and concentrated.
Storage silos by the hundreds
were built and were filled.
Hundreds upon hundreds of
concentrate-carriers bored
their stolid ways through hyperspace.
Many weeks of time
passed.</p>

<p>But of what importance are
mere weeks of time to a race
that has, for many millions
of years, been adhering rigidly
to a pre-set program?</p>

<p>The sheer magnitude of the
operation, and the extraordinary
attention to detail with
which it was prepared and
launched, explain why the
Strett attack on Ardvor did
not occur until so many weeks
later than Hilton and Sawtelle
expected it. They also
explain the utterly incomprehensible
fury, the completely
fantastic intensity, the unparalleled
savagery, the almost
immeasurable brute power
of that attack when it finally
did come.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">WHEN the <i>Orion</i> landed
on Ardane Field from
Earth, carrying the first contingent
of immigrants, Hilton
and Sawtelle were almost as
much surprised as relieved
that the Stretts had not already
attacked.</p>

<p>Sawtelle, confident that his
defenses were fully ready,
took it more or less in stride.
Hilton worried. And after a
couple of days he began to do
some real thinking about it.</p>

<p>The first result of his
thinking was a conference
with Temple. As soon as she
got the drift, she called in
Teddy and Big Bill Karns.
Teddy in turn called in Becky
and de Vaux; Karns wanted
Poynter and Beverly; Poynter
wanted Braden and the
twins; and so on. Thus, what
started out as a conference of
two became a full Ardan staff
meeting; a meeting which,
starting immediately after
lunch, ran straight through
into the following afternoon.</p>

<p>"To sum up the consensus,
for the record," Hilton said
then, studying a sheet of paper
covered with symbols,
"the Stretts haven't attacked
yet because they found out
that we are stronger than they
are. They found that out by
analyzing our defensive web&mdash;which,
if we had had this
meeting first, we wouldn't
have put up at all. Unlike anything
known to human or previous
Strett science, it is
proof against any form of attack
up to the limit of the
power of its generators. They
will attack as soon as they are
equipped to break that screen
at the level of power probable
to our ships. We can not arrive
at any reliable estimate
as to how long that will take.</p>

<p>"As to the effectiveness of
our cutting off their known
fuel supply, opinion is divided.
We must therefore assume
that fuel shortage will not be
a factor.</p>

<p>"Neither are we unanimous
on the basic matter as to why
the Masters acted as they did
just before they left Ardry.
Why did they set the status
so far below their top ability?
Why did they make it impossible
for the Omans ever, of
themselves, to learn their
higher science? Why, if they
did not want that science to
become known, did they leave
complete records of it? The
majority of us believe that
the Masters coded their records
in such fashion that the
Stretts, even if they conquered
the Omans or destroyed
them, could never
break that code; since it was
keyed to the basic difference
between the Strett mentality
and the human. Thus, they
left it deliberately for some
human race to find.</p>

<p>"Finally, and most important,
our physicists and theoreticians
are not able to extrapolate,
from the analysis
of our screen, to the concepts
underlying the Masters' ultimate
weapons of offense, the
first-stage booster and its final
end-product, the Vang. If,
as we can safely assume, the
Stretts do not already have
those weapons, they will know
nothing about them until we
ourselves use them in battle.</p>

<p>"These are, of course, only
the principal points covered.
Does anyone wish to amend
this summation as recorded?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">NO one did.</p>

<p>The meeting was adjourned.
Hilton, however, accompanied
Sawtelle and Kedy
to the captain's office. "So
you see, Skipper, we got
troubles," he said. "If we
don't use those boosters
against their skeletons it'll
boil down to a stalemate lasting
God only knows how long.
It will be a war of attrition,
outcome dependent on which
side can build the most and
biggest and strongest ships
the fastest. On the other
hand, if we <i>do</i> use 'em on defense
here, they'll analyze
'em and have everything
worked out in a day or so. The
first thing they'll do is beef
up their planetary defenses to
match. That way, we'd blow
all their ships out of space,
probably easily enough, but
Strett itself will be just as
safe as though it were in
God's left-hand hip pocket. So
what's the answer?"</p>

<p>"It isn't that simple, Jarve,"
Sawtelle said. "Let's hear
from you, Kedy."</p>

<p>"Thank you, sir. There is
an optimum mass, a point of
maximum efficiency of firepower
as balanced against loss
of maneuverability, for any
craft designed for attack,"
Kedy thought, in his most
professional manner. "We assume
that the Stretts know
that as well as we do. No such
limitation applies to strictly
defensive structures, but both
the Strett craft and ours must
be designed for attack. We
have built and are building
many hundreds of thousands
of ships of that type. So, undoubtedly,
are the Stretts.
Ship for ship, they will be
pretty well matched. Therefore
one part of my strategy
will be for two of our ships to
engage simultaneously one of
theirs. There is a distinct
probability that we will have
enough advantage in speed of
control to make that tactic
operable."</p>

<p>"But there's another that we
won't," Sawtelle objected.
"And maybe they can build
more ships than we can."</p>

<p>"Another point is that they
may build, in addition to their
big stuff, a lot of small, ultra-fast
ones," Hilton put in.
"Suicide jobs&mdash;crash and detonate&mdash;simply
super-missiles.
How sure are you that you
can stop such missiles with
ordinary beams?"</p>

<p>"Not at all, sir. Some of
them would of course reach
and destroy some of our ships.
Which brings up the second
part of my strategy. For each
one of the heavies, we are
building many small ships of
the type you just called 'super-missiles'."</p>

<p>"Superdreadnoughts versus
superdreadnoughts, super-missiles
versus super-missiles."
Hilton digested that
concept for several minutes.
"That could still wind up as
a stalemate, except for what
you said about control. That
isn't much to depend on, especially
since we won't have
the time-lag advantage you
Omans had before. They'll see
to that. Also, I don't like to
sacrifice a million Omans,
either."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">"I HAVEN'T explained the
newest development yet,
sir. There will be no Omans.
Each ship and each missile
has a built-in Kedy brain,
sir."</p>

<p>"<i>What?</i> That makes it infinitely
worse. You Kedys,
unless it's absolutely necessary,
are <i>not</i> expendable!"</p>

<p>"Oh, but we are, sir. You
don't quite understand. We
Kedys are not merely similar,
but are in fact identical. Thus
we are not independent entities.
All of us together make
up the actual Kedy&mdash;that
which is meant when we say
'I'. That is, I am the sum total
of all Kedys everywhere, not
merely this individual that
you call Kedy One."</p>

<p>"You mean you're <i>all</i> talking
to me?"</p>

<p>"Exactly, sir. Thus, no one
element of the Kedy has any
need of, or any desire for,
self-preservation. The destruction
of one element, or
of thousands of elements,
would be of no more consequence
to the Kedy than ... well,
they are strictly analogous
to the severed ends of
the hairs, every time you get
a haircut."</p>

<p>"My God!" Hilton stared
at Sawtelle. Sawtelle stared
back. "I'm beginning to see ... maybe ... I
hope. What
control that would be! But
just in case we <i>should</i> have
to use the boosters...." Hilton's
voice died away. Scowling
in concentration, he
clasped his hands behind his
back and began to pace the
floor.</p>

<p>"Better give up, Jarve.
Kedy's got the same mind
you have," Sawtelle began, to
Hilton's oblivious back; but
Kedy silenced the thought
almost in the moment of its
inception.</p>

<p>"By no means, sir," he contradicted.
"I have the brain
only. The <i>mind</i> is entirely
different."</p>

<p>"Link up, Kedy, and see
what you think of this," Hilton
broke in. There ensued
an interchange of thought so
fast and so deeply mathematical
that Sawtelle was lost
in seconds. "Do you think
it'll work?"</p>

<p>"I don't see how it can fail,
sir. At what point in the action
should it be put into effect?
And will you call the
time of initiation, or shall
I?"</p>

<p>"Not until all their reserves
are in action. Or, at worst,
all of ours except that one
task-force. Since you'll know
a lot more about the status of
the battle than either Sawtelle
or I will, you give the
signal and I'll start things
going."</p>

<p>"What are you two talking
about?" Sawtelle demanded.</p>

<p>"It's a long story, chum.
Kedy can tell you about it
better than I can. Besides, it's
getting late and Dark Lady
and Larry both give me hell
every time I hold supper on
plus time unless there's a
mighty good reason for it.
So, so long, guys."</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>XIII</h2>


<p class="cap">FOR many weeks the production
of Ardan warships
and missiles had been spiraling
upward.</p>

<p>Half a mountain range of
solid rock had been converted
into fabricated super-steel and
armament. Superdreadnoughts
Were popping into existence
at the rate of hundreds per
minute. Missiles were rolling
off the ends of assembly lines
like half-pint tin cans out of
can-making machines.</p>

<p>The Strett warcraft, skeletons
and missiles, would
emerge into normal space anywhere
within a million miles
of Ardvor. The Ardan missiles
were powered for an acceleration
of one hundred gravities.
That much the Kedy brains,
molded solidly into teflon-lined,
massively braced steel
spheres, could just withstand.</p>

<p>To be certain of breaking
the Strett screens, an impact
velocity of about six miles per
second was necessary. The
time required to attain this
velocity was about ten seconds,
and the flight distance
something over thirty miles.</p>

<p>Since the Stretts could orient
themselves in less than
one second after emergence,
even this extremely tight
packing of missiles&mdash;only sixty
miles apart throughout the
entire emergence volume of
space&mdash;would still give the
Stretts the initiative by a
time-ratio of more than ten
to one.</p>

<p>Such tight packing was of
course impossible. It called
for many billions of defenders
instead of the few millions
it was possible for the Omans
to produce in the time they
had. In fact, the average spacing
was well over ten thousand
miles when the invading
horde of Strett missiles
emerged and struck.</p>

<p><i>How</i> they struck!</p>

<p>There was nothing of finesse
about that attack; nothing
of skill or of tactics: nothing
but the sheer brute force
of overwhelming superiority
of numbers and of over-matching
power. One instant
all space was empty. The next
instant it was full of invading
missiles&mdash;a superb exhibition
of coordination and timing.</p>

<p>And the Kedy control, upon
which the defenders had
counted so heavily, proved
useless. For each Strett missile,
within a fraction of a second
of emergence, darted toward
the nearest Oman missile
with an acceleration that
made the one-hundred-gravity
defenders seem to be standing
still.</p>

<p>One to one, missiles crashed
into missiles and detonated.
There were no solid or liquid
end-products. Each of those
frightful weapons carried so
many megatons-equivalent of
atomic concentrate that all
nearby space blossomed out
into superatomic blasts hundreds
of times more violent
than the fireballs of lithium-hydride
fusion bombs.</p>

<p>For a moment even Hilton
was stunned; but only for a
moment.</p>

<p>"Kedy!" he barked. "Get
your big stuff out there! Use
the boosters!" He started for
the door at a full run. "That
tears it&mdash;that <i>really</i> tears it!
Scrap the plan. I'll board the
<i>Sirius</i> and take the task-force
to Strett. Bring your stuff
along, Skipper, as soon as
you're ready."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">ARDAN superdreadnoughts
in their massed thousands
poured out through Ardvor's
one-way screen. Each went instantly
to work. Now the
Kedy control system, doing
what it was designed to do,
proved its full worth. For the
weapons of the big battle-wagons
did not depend upon acceleration,
but were driven at
the speed of light; and Grand
Fleet Operations were
planned and were carried out
at the almost infinite velocity
of thought itself.</p>

<p>Or, rather, they were not
planned at all. They were simply
carried out, immediately
and without confusion.</p>

<p>For all the Kedys were one.
Each Kedy element, without
any lapse of time whatever
for consultation with any
other, knew exactly where
every other element was; exactly
what each was doing;
and exactly what he himself
should do to make maximum
contribution to the common
cause.</p>

<p>Nor was any time lost in relaying
orders to crewmen
within the ship. There were
no crewmen. Each Kedy element
was the sole personnel
of, and was integral with, his
vessel. Nor were there any
wires or relays to impede and
slow down communication.
Operational instructions, too,
were transmitted and were
acted upon with thought's
transfinite speed. Thus, if decision
and execution were not
quite mathematically simultaneous,
they were separated by
a period of time so infinitesimally
small as to be impossible
of separation.</p>

<p>Wherever a Strett missile
was, or wherever a Strett
skeleton-ship appeared, an
Oman beam reached it, usually
in much less than one second.
Beam clung to screen&mdash;caressingly,
hungrily&mdash;absorbing
its total energy and forming
the first-stage booster.
Then, three microseconds
later, that booster went off
into a ragingly incandescent,
glaringly violent burst of fury
so hellishly, so inconceivably
hot that less than a thousandth
of its total output of energy
was below the very top of the
visible spectrum!</p>

<p>If the previous display of
atomic violence had been so
spectacular and of such magnitude
as to defy understanding
or description, what of
this? When hundreds of thousands
of Kedys, each wielding
world-wrecking powers as
effortlessly and as deftly and
as precisely as thought, attacked
and destroyed millions
of those tremendously powerful
war-fabrications of the
Stretts? The only simple answer
is that all nearby space
might very well have been
torn out of the most radiant
layers of S-Doradus itself.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">HILTON made the hundred
yards from office door to
curb in just over twelve seconds.
Larry was waiting. The
car literally burned a hole in
the atmosphere as it screamed
its way to Ardane Field.</p>

<p>It landed with a thump.
Heavy black streaks of synthetic
rubber marked the
pavement as it came to a
screeching, shrieking stop at
the flagship's main lock. And,
in the instant of closing that
lock's outer portal, all twenty-thousand-plus
warships of
the task force took off as one
at ten gravities. Took off, and
in less than one minute went
into overdrive.</p>

<p>All personal haste was now
over. Hilton went up into
what he still thought of as
the "control room," even
though he knew that there
were no controls, nor even
any instruments, anywhere
aboard. He knew what he
would find there. Fast as he
had acted, Temple had not
had as far to go and she had
got there first.</p>

<p>He could not have said, for
the life of him, how he actually
felt about this direct defiance
of his direct orders. He
walked into the room, sat
down beside her and took her
hand.</p>

<p>"I told you to stay home,
Temple," he said.</p>

<p>"I know you did. But I'm
not only the assistant head of
your Psychology Department.
I'm your wife, remember?
'Until death do us part.' And
if there's any way in the universe
I can manage it, death
isn't going to part us&mdash;at
least, this one isn't. If this is
it, we'll go together."</p>

<p>"I know, sweetheart." He
put his arm around her, held
her close. "As a psych I
wouldn't give a whoop. You'd
be expendable. But as my
wife, especially now that
you're pregnant, you aren't.
You're a lot more important
to the future of our race than
I am."</p>

<p>She stiffened in the circle
of his arm. "What's <i>that</i>
crack supposed to mean?
Think I'd ever accept a synthetic
zombie imitation of you
for my husband and go on living
with it just as though
nothing had happened?"</p>

<p>Hilton started to say something,
but Temple rushed
heedlessly on: "<i>Drat</i> the race!
No matter how many children
we ever have you were first
and you'll <i>stay</i> first, and if
you have to go I'll go, too,
so there! Besides, you know
darn well that they can't duplicate
whatever it is that
makes you Jarvis Hilton."</p>

<p>"Now wait a minute, Tempy.
The conversion ..."</p>

<p>"Yes, the conversion,"
she interrupted, triumphantly.
"The thing I'm talking about
is immaterial&mdash;untouchable&mdash;they
didn't&mdash;couldn't&mdash;do any
thing about it at all. Kedy,
will you please tell this big
goofus that even though you
have got Jarvis Hilton's brain
you aren't Jarvis Hilton and
never can be?"</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE atmosphere of the
room vibrated in the frequencies
of a deep bass laugh.
"You are trying to hold a completely
untenable position,
friend Hilton. Any attempt to
convince a mind of real power
that falsity is truth is illogical.
My advice is for you
to surrender."</p>

<p>That word hit Temple hard.
"Not surrender, sweetheart.
I'm not fighting you. I never
will." She seized both of his
hands; tears welled into her
glorious eyes. "It's just that I
simply couldn't <i>stand</i> it to go
on living without you!"</p>

<p>"I know, darling." He got
up and lifted her to her feet,
so that she could come properly
into his arms. They stood
there, silent and motionless,
for minutes.</p>

<p>Temple finally released herself
and, after feeling for a
handkerchief she did not have,
wiped her eyes with a forefinger
and then wiped the finger
on her bare leg. She
grinned and turned to the
Omans. "Prince, will you and
Dark Lady please conjure us
up a steak-and-mushrooms
supper? They should be in the
pantry ... since this <i>Sirius</i> was
designed for us."</p>

<p>After supper the two sat
companionably on a davenport.
"One thing about this
business isn't quite clear,"
Temple said. "Why all this
tearing rush? They haven't
got the booster or anything
like it, or they'd have used it.
Surely it'll take them a long
time to go from the mere
analysis of the forces and
fields we used clear through
to the production and installation
of enough weapons to
stop this whole fleet?"</p>

<p>"It surely won't. They've
had the absorption principle
for ages. Remember that first,
ancient skeleton that drained
all the power of our suits and
boats in nothing flat? From
there it isn't too big a jump.
And as for producing stuff;
uh-<i>uh</i>! If there's any limit to
what they can do, I don't
know what it is. If we don't
slug 'em before they get it,
it's curtains."</p>

<p>"I see.... I'm afraid. We're
almost there, darling."</p>

<p>He glanced at the chronometer.
"About eleven minutes.
And of course I don't
need to ask you to stay out
of the way."</p>

<p>"Of course not. I won't interfere,
no matter what happens.
All I'm going to do is
hold your hand and pull for
you with all my might."</p>

<p>"That'll help, believe me.
I'm mighty glad you're along,
sweetheart. Even though both
of us know you shouldn't be."</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">THE task force emerged.
Each ship darted toward
its pre-assigned place in a
mathematically exact envelope
around the planet Strett.</p>

<p>Hilton sat on a davenport
strained and still. His eyes
were closed and every muscle
tense. Left hand gripped the
arm-rest so fiercely that fingertips
were inches deep in
the leather-covered padding.</p>

<p>The Stretts <i>knew</i> that any
such attack as this was futile.
No movable structure or any
combination of such structures
could possibly wield
enough power to break down
screens powered by such engines
as theirs.</p>

<p>Hilton, however, knew that
there was a chance. Not with
the first-stage boosters, which
were manipulable and detonable
masses of ball lightning,
but with those boosters'
culminations, the Vangs;
which were ball lightning
raised to the sixth power and
which only the frightful energies
of the boosters could
bring into being.</p>

<p>But, even with twenty-thousand-plus
Vangs&mdash;or any
larger number&mdash;success depended
entirely upon a nicety
of timing never before approached
and supposedly impossible.
Not only to thousandths
of a microsecond, but
to a small fraction of one such
thousandth: roughly, the time
it takes light to travel three-sixteenths
of an inch.</p>

<p>It would take practically absolute
simultaneity to overload
to the point of burnout
to those Strett generators.
They were the heaviest in the
Galaxy.</p>

<p>That was why Hilton himself
had to be there. He could
not possibly have done the job
from Ardvor. In fact, there
was no real assurance that,
even at the immeasurable
velocity of thought and covering
a mere million miles, he
could do it even from his present
position aboard one unit
of the fleet. Theoretically,
with his speed-up, he could.
But that theory had yet to be
reduced to practice.</p>

<p>Tense and strained, Hilton
began his countdown.</p>

<p>Temple sat beside him.
Both hands pressed his right
fist against her breast. Her
eyes, too, were closed; she was
as stiff and as still as was he.
She was not interfering, but
giving; supporting him, backing
him, giving to him in full
flood everything of that tremendous
inner strength that
had made Temple Bells what
she so uniquely was.</p>

<p>On the exact center of the
needle-sharp zero beat every
Kedy struck. Gripped and activated
as they all were
by Hilton's keyed-up-and-stretched-out
mind, they
struck in what was very close
indeed to absolute unison.</p>

<p>Absorbing beams, each one
having had precisely the same
number of millimeters to travel,
reached the screen at the
same instant. They clung and
sucked. Immeasurable floods
of energy flashed from the
Strett generators into those
vortices to form twenty thousand-plus
first-stage boosters.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">BUT this time the boosters
did not detonate.</p>

<p>Instead, as energies continued
to flood in at a frightfully
accelerating rate, they
turned into something else.
Things no Terran science has
ever even imagined; things at
the formation of which all
neighboring space actually
warped, and in that warping
seethed and writhed and shuddered.
The very sub-ether
screamed and shrieked in protest
as it, too, yielded in
starkly impossible fashions to
that irresistible stress.</p>

<p>How even those silicon-fluorine
brains stood it, not
one of them ever knew.</p>

<p>Microsecond by slow microsecond
the Vangs grew and
grew and grew. They were
pulling not only the full power
of the Ardan warships, but
also the immeasurably greater
power of the strainingly overloaded
Strettsian generators
themselves. The ethereal and
sub-ethereal writhings and
distortions and screamings
grew worse and worse; harder
and ever harder to bear.</p>

<p>Imagine, if you can, a constantly
and rapidly increasing
mass of plutonium&mdash;a mass already
thousands of times
greater than critical, but not
<i>allowed</i> to react! That gives
a faint and very inadequate
picture of what was happening
then.</p>

<p>Finally, at perhaps a hundred
thousand times critical
mass, and still in perfect sync,
the Vangs all went off.</p>

<p>The planet Strett became a
nova.</p>

<p>"We won! We <i>won</i>!" Temple
shrieked, her perception
piercing through the hellish
murk that was all nearby
space.</p>

<p>"Not quite yet, sweet, but
we're over the biggest hump,"
and the two held an impromptu,
but highly satisfactory,
celebration.</p>

<p>Perhaps it would be better
to say that the planet Strett
became a junior-grade nova,
since the actual nova stage
was purely superficial and did
not last very long. In a couple
of hours things had quieted
down enough so that the
heavily-screened warships
could approach the planet and
finish up their part of the
job.</p>

<p>Much of Strett's land surface
was molten lava. Much
of its water was gone. There
were some pockets of resistance
left, of course, but
they did not last long. Equally
of course the Stretts themselves,
twenty-five miles underground,
had not been
harmed at all.</p>

<p>But that, too, was according
to plan.</p>

<hr style='width: 25%;' />

<p class="cap">LEAVING the task force on
guard, to counter any move
the Stretts might be able to
make, Hilton shot the <i>Sirius</i>
out to the planet's moon.
There Sawtelle and his staff
and tens of thousands of
Omans and machines were
starting to work. No part of
this was Hilton's job; so all
he and Temple did was look
on.</p>

<p>Correction, please. That was
not <i>all</i> they did. But while
resting and eating and loafing
and sleeping and enjoying
each other's company, both
watched Operation Moon
closely enough to be completely
informed as to everything
that went on.</p>

<p>Immense, carefully placed
pits went down to solid bedrock.
To that rock were immovably
anchored structures
strong enough to move a
world. Driving units were installed&mdash;drives
of such immensity
of power as to test
to the full the highest engineering
skills of the Galaxy.
Mountains of fuel-concentrate
filled vast reservoirs of concrete.
Each was connected to
a drive by fifty-inch high-speed
conveyors.</p>

<p>Sawtelle drove a thought
and those brutal super-drives
began to blast.</p>

<p>As they blasted, Strett's
satellite began to move out of
its orbit. Very slowly at first,
but faster and faster. They
continued to blast, with all
their prodigious might and in
carefully-computed order, until
the desired orbit was attained&mdash;an
orbit which terminated
in a vertical line
through the center of the
Stretts' supposedly impregnable
retreat.</p>

<p>The planet Strett had a
mass of approximately seven
times ten to the twenty-first
metric tons. Its moon, little
more than a hundredth as
massive, still weighed in at
about eight times ten to the
nineteenth&mdash;that is, the figure
eight followed by nineteen
zeroes.</p>

<p>And moon fell on planet, in
direct central impact, after
having fallen from a height
of over a quarter of a million
miles under the full pull of
gravity and the full thrust of
those mighty atomic drives.</p>

<p>The kinetic energy of such
a collision can be computed.
It can be expressed. It is,
however, of such astronomical
magnitude as to be completely
meaningless to the human
mind.</p>

<p>Simply, the two worlds
merged and splashed. Droplets,
weighing up to millions
of tons each, spattered out
into space; only to return, in
seconds or hours or weeks or
months, to add their atrocious
contributions to the enormity
of the destruction already
wrought.</p>

<p>No trace survived of any
Strett or of any thing, however
small, pertaining to the
Stretts.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>Epilogue</h2>


<p class="cap">AS had become a daily custom,
most of the Ardans
were gathered at the natatorium.
Hilton and Temple were
wrestling in the water&mdash;she
was trying to duck him and
he was hard put to it to keep
her from doing it. The platinum-haired
twins were&mdash;oh,
ever so surreptitiously and indetectably!&mdash;studying
the other
girls.</p>

<p>Captain Sawtelle&mdash;he had
steadfastly refused to accept
any higher title&mdash;and his wife
were teaching two of their
tiny grandchildren to swim.</p>

<p>In short, everything was
normal.</p>

<p>Beverly Bell Poynter, from
the top platform, hit the board
as hard as she could hit it;
and, perfectly synchronized
with it, hurled herself upward.
Up and up and up she
went. Up to her top ceiling
of two hundred ten feet. Then,
straightening out into a shapely
arrow and without again
moving a muscle, she hurtled
downward, making two and a
half beautifully stately turns
and striking the water with a
slurping, splashless <i>chug</i>!
Coming easily to the surface,
she shook the water out of her
eyes.</p>

<p>Temple, giving up her attempts
to near-drown her husband,
rolled over and floated
quietly beside him.</p>

<p>"You know, this is fun," he
said.</p>

<p>"Uh-<i>huh</i>," she agreed enthusiastically.</p>

<p>"I'm glad you and Sandy
buried the hatchet. Two of the
top women who ever lived. Or
should I have said sheathed
the claws? Or have you, really?"</p>

<p>"Pretty much ... I guess."
Temple didn't seem altogether
sure of the point. "Oh-oh.
<i>Now</i> what?"</p>

<p>A flitabout had come to
ground. Dark Lady, who never
delivered a message via
thought if she could possibly
get away with delivering it in
person, was running full tilt
across the sand toward them.
Her long black hair was
streaming out behind her; she
was waving a length of teletype
tape as though it were a
pennon.</p>

<p>"Oh, no. Not <i>again</i>?" Temple
wailed. "Don't tell us it's
Terra again, Dark Lady,
please."</p>

<p>"But it is!" Dark Lady
cried, excitedly. "And it says
'From Five-Jet Admiral Gordon,
Commanding.'"</p>

<p>"Omit flowers, please," Hilton
directed. "Boil it down."</p>

<p>"The <i>Perseus</i> is in orbit
with the whole Advisory
Board. They want to hold a
top-level summit conference
with Director Hilton and
Five-Jet Admiral Sawtelle."
Dark Lady raised her voice
enough to be sure Sawtelle
heard the title, and shot him
a wicked glance as she announced
it. "They hope to
conclude all unfinished business
on a mutually satisfactory
and profitable basis."</p>

<p>"Okay, Lady, thanks. Tell
'em we'll call 'em shortly."</p>

<p>Dark Lady flashed away
and Hilton and Temple swam
slowly toward a ladder.</p>

<p>"Drat Terra and everything
and everybody on it," Temple
said, vigorously. "And especially
drat His Royal Fatness
Five-Jet Admiral Gordon.
How much longer will it take,
do you think, to pound some
sense into their pointed little
heads?"</p>

<p>"Oh, we're not doing too
bad," Hilton assured his lovely
bride. "Two or three more
sessions ought to do it."</p>

<p>Everything was normal....</p>


<p class="theend">END</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<div class="cpoem">
<p>Don't miss the next Galaxy Magazine!</p>

<p class="center">THE BIG ENGINE<br />
by Fritz Leiber<br />
<br />
CRITICAL MASS<br />
by Pohl &amp; Kornbluth<br />
<br />
THE RAG AND BONE MEN<br />
by Algis Budrys</p>

<p>And many more, including Willy Ley science column and the
great conclusion of Poul Anderson's THE DAY AFTER
DOOMSDAY! February <i>Galaxy</i> on sale December 10th&mdash;ask
your newsdealer to reserve it for you!</p></div>

</html>