ROBERT HEINLEiN

literary habi(a*consist mainly of a run- ning fight lo Hlay away from people, tele- phones, and correspondence long enough to get stories written down. I’ve no particular knowledge of the techniques of writing fie- tion and am afraid to find out, remembering what happened lo the centipede who was asked how he handled his legs. 1 become very attached to my characters and kill them off reluelantly. Am married lo a wonderfiii rarity: an even-tempered redhead.”

MURRAY LEINSTER

”1 was a professional writer long before 1 c«>uld vote, ami to dale have had publi»he«l about l,3fH) stories, 29 books, some motion- pictures, radio and TV plays. I’ve been pub- lished ill 12 languages besides English, and in Braille. My hobby, naturally, is gadgets. 1 live in a house that was built in IfiSO, where I enjoy writing about life in 2650.”

H. L. GOLD

“I’m 5-9, weigh 155 stripped, was born in Montreal and educated in the U. S., am mar- ried and have one son. While learning to write I held the usual jobs: junior pharma- cist, shoe salesman, floor scraper, apprentice upholsterer, ete. My favorite job, though, was the one where 1 used to drown — so that life- guard students could practice rescue on me. I've written and sold over 5,000,000 words under 32 pen names, edited or published more than two dozen magazines in various fields.”

^^ING STORIES, Vol. 27, No. 4, April-Moy 1953, is publishod bi-monthly by Ih* Ziff-Devis Pob- liihmg Company ol 185 North Wabash Avonua, Chicago I, Illinois. Entared os svcend-closs matter at the Post Otfice. Chicago, III. under the act of Morch 3, 1879. Aulherised by Post Office Department Otiawo. Canada, as second-class maHer. Postmaster-please return undelivered copies under form 3679 to 64 E. Lake St., Chicago I, III. Subscription rotes: U. S., Canada, Mexico, Sooth and Central

S^-OO for 12 issues: British Empire and all other foreign countries,

S5v0 for 12 issues.

APRIL^AY 1953

VOLUME 37 NUMtIR 4

AMAZING

S TO R I i S

UEc;. V. S. PAT, OFF

Zlt=i=.OAVIS PUetlSHING company Ldiioriol ar><l Sicacuiiva

364 Modlson Atf'ajt Hf-w YorktP. Naw York

Oairman ol Board Old Puhll<rixr

WILLIAM R. ZIFF

B. G. DAVIS

Vie# ff#«d#nff~“

H, J. MORGANROTH Pcodocllon Dirsct.or LVNN PHILLIPS. >R. Adv«il»io9 Dif«ror H. G. STRONG CifC\»lo»iW> Oirectof LOUIS ZARA Adortaie Cdiiorial Ol'oeroi'

Sac'«ro»/- Ireawrsr

G. e. CARNTY

An OlriKfor

ALBERT CRUEN

CONTENTS

MARS CONFIDENTIAL

By Jack Lolt and L#e Mortirtior 4

PROJECT NIGHTMARE

By Robert H«tnl#{rt 20

NO CHAR61 FOR ALTERATIONS

By H. L Gold 40

THE WAV HOME

By Thoodor# Sturgeon 62

TURNOVER POINT

By Alfred Coppal. 70

•ELLY LAUGH

By Ivor Jorgemen 76

THE LAST DAY

By Richard Malheien 92

THE INVADERS

By Murroy L«In«t*r 107

CLASSIC SHORT STOR'i :

HERE THERE BE TYGERS

By Roy Bradbury 80

Covert Boryo Phillipe

Editor

HOWARD BROWNE

Managing Editor Assistant Editor

PAUL W. FAIRMAN MICHA^ KAGAN

Art Editor L R. SUMMtERS

CopyriQtit 1 969 br tl>« Ziff-Dcrvii PwbliiMnQ Conpony. AO tlghti ressH-vad.

MARS CONFIDENTIAL!

Jack Lait & Lee Mortimer

Here is history’s bi^^est news scoop! Those intrepid reporters Jack ImU and Lee Mortimer, whose best-selling exposes oflije’s seamy side from New York to Medicine Hat hn%>e made them famous, here strip away the veil of millions of miles to bring you the lowdown on our sister planet. It is an amazing account of vice and violence, of virtues and victims, told in vivid, jet-speed style.

Here you'll learn why Mars is called the Red Planet, the part the Mafia plays in her undoing, the rape and rapine that has made this heavenly body the cesspool of the Universe. In other words, this is Mars — Confidential!

T^.c.e.c.c.f f

HERE WE GO AGAIN — Confidential.

We Uiriietl New York Inside out. We turned Chicago upside down. In Washington we turned the insiders out and the outsiders in. The howls can still be heard since we dissected the U.S..A.

But Mars was our toughest task of siwctroscoping. The cab

drivers spoke a different language atui the Ijoll-hops ('ouldn’l read our currency. Yet, we think we liave X-rayed the dizziest and litis mayamaze you — lliediniesL planet in the solar system. Beside it, tlie Earth is as white as the Moon, and Chicago is as peaceful as the Milky Way.

By the time we went through Mars — its canals, its caves, its

4

5

satellites and its catacombs - — we knew more about it than anyone who lives there.

We make no attempt to be comprehensive. We have no hope or aim to make Mars a better place in which to live; in fact, we don’t give a damn what kind of a place it Is to live in.

This will be the story of a planet that could have been another proud and majestic sun with a solar system of its own; it ended up, instead, in the comic books and the pulp magazines.

Wc give you MARS confiden- tial!

I

THE LOWDOWN CONFIDENTIAL

Before the space ship which brings the arriving traveler lauds at the Martian National Airport, it swoops gracefully over the nearby city in a salute. J he narrow ribbons, laid out in geo- metric order, gradually grow wider until the water in these man- made rivers becomes crystal clear and sparkles in the reflection of the sun.

As Mars comes closer, the visi- tor from Earth quickly realizes it has a manner and a glamor of its own; it is unworldy, it is out of this world. It Is not the air of dis- tinction one finds in New York or London or Paris. The Martian feeling is dreamlike; it comes from

being close to the stuff dreams are made of.

However, after the sojourner lands, he discovers that Mars is not much different than the planet he left; indeed, men are pretty much the same all over the uni- .verse, whether they carry their plumbing inside or outside their bodies.

As we unfold the rates of crime, vice, sex irregularities, graft, cheap gambling, drunkenness, rowdyism and rackets, yon will get, thrown on a large screen, a peep show you never saw on your TV during the science-fiction hour.

Each day the Earth man spends on Mars makes him feel more at home; thus, it comes as no sur- prise to the initiated that even here, at least 35,000,000 miles away from Times Square, there are hoodlums who talk out of the sides of their mouths and drive expensive convertibles with white- walled tires and yellow-haired frails. For the Mafia, the dread Black Hand, is in business here — tied up with the subversives — and neither the Martian Commit- tee for the Investigation of Crime and Vice, nor the Un-Martian Activities Committee, can dent it more than the Kefauver Commit- tee did on Earth, which is prac- tically less than nothing.

This is the first time this story has been printed. We were olTered four trillion dollars in bribes to

6

AMAZING STORIES

liold il up; our lives were threat- encci and we were shot at with death ray guns.

We got this one night oti the fourtli bench in Central Park, where we met by appointment a man who phoned us earlier but refused to tell his name. When we took one look at him we did not ask for his credentials, we just knew he came from Mars.

'Phis is what he told us:

Shortly after the end of World War II, a syndicate composed of underworld big-shots from Chi- cago, Detroit and Greenpoint planned to build a new Las Vegas in the Nevada desert. This was to be a plush project for big spend- ers. with Vegas and Reno reserved for the hoi-iX)lloi.

'I'here was to be service by a private airline. It would be so ultra-ultra that suckers with only a million would be thumbed away and guys with two million would have to come in through the back dwr.

The Mafia sent a couple of front men to explore the desert. Some- where out beyond the atom proj- ect they stumbled on what seemed to be the answer to their prayer.

It was a huge, mausoleum-Hke structure, standing alone in the desert hundreds of miles from no- where, unique, exclusive and mys- terious. The prosi>ectors assumed it was the last remnant of some fabulous and long-dead ghost- mining town.

The entire population consisted of one, a little duffer with a white goatee and thick lensed specta- cles, wearing boots, chaps and a silk Iial.

“This your place, bud?” one of the hoods asked.

When he signilied it was, the boys bought it. The price was agreeable — after they pulled a wicked-looking rod.

Then the money guys came to look over their purchase. They couldn’t make head or tail of it, and you can hardly blame them, because inside the great structure they found a huge contraption that looked like a cigar (Havana Perfecto) standing on end.

“What the hell is this,” they asked the character in the opera hat, in what is known as a menac- ing attitude.

The old pappy guy offered to show them. He escorted them into the cigar, pressed a button here and there, and before you could say “AI Capone” the rcM)f of the shed slid back and they began to move upward at a terrific rate of speed.

Three or four of the Mafia chieftains were old hop-heads and felt at home. In fact, one of them remarked, “Boy, are we gone." And he was right.

The soberer Mafistas, after re- covering from their first shock, laid ungentle fists on their con- ductor.

MARS CONFIDENTIAL

7

‘‘What Roes on? ” he was asked.

“This is a space ship and we arc headed for Mars.”

“What’s Mars?”

“A planet up in space, loaded with gold and diamonds.”

“Any bims there?”

“I beg your pardon, sir. What are bims?”

“Get a load of this dope. He never heard of bims. Babes, broads, frails, pigeons,, ribs — catch on?”

“Oh, I assume you mean girls. There must be, otherwise what are the diamonds for?”

The outward trip t(X)k a week, but it was spent pleasantly. Dur- ing that time, the Miami delega- tion cleaned out Chicago, New York and Pittsburgh in a klabiash game.

The hop back, for various rea- sons, took a little longer. One rea- son may have been the condition of the crew. On the return the boys from Brooklyn were primed to the ears with sorkle.

Zorkle is a Martian medicinal distillation, made from the milk of the schznoogle — a six-legged cow, seldom milked because few Martians can run fast enough to catch one. Zorkle is strong enough to rip steel plates out of battle- ships, but to stomachs accustomed to the blulT sold in Platbush, it acted like a gentle stimulant.

Upon their safe landing in Nevada, the Columbuses of this first flight to Mars put in long-

distance calls to all the other im- portant hoods In the country.

The Crime Cartel met in Cleve- land — in the third floor front of a tenement on Mayfield Road. The purpose of the meeting was to “cut up” Mars.

Considerable dissension arose over the bookmaking facilities, when it was learned that the radio- active surface of the planet made it unnecessary to send scratches and results by wire. On the con- trary, the steel-shod hooves of the animals set up a current wliich carried into every pool room, without a pay-off to the wire service.

The final division found the apportionment as follows:

New York mob: Real estate and invest- ments (if any)

Chicago mob: Book- making and liquor (if any)

Brooklyn mob: Pro- tection and assas- sinations

Jersey mob: Num- bers (if any) and craps (if any)

Los Angeles mob:

Girls (if any)

Galveston and Ne^v Orleans mobs: Dope (if any)

Cleveland mob: Ca- sinos (if any)

Detroit mob: Sum- mer resorts (if any)

8

AM.'\7.ING STOHIES

The Detroit boys, incidentally, burned up when they learned the Martian year is twice as long as ours, consequently it takes two years for one summer to roll around.

After the summary demise of three Grand Councilors whose deaths were recorded by the press as occurring from “natural causes,” the other major and minor mobs were declared in as partners.

The first problem to be ironed out was how to speed up trans- portation : and failing that, to con- struct spacious space ships which would attract pleasure-bent trade from Terra — Earth to you — with such innovations as roulette wheels, steam rooms, cocktail lounges, double rooms with hot and cold babes, and other such inducements.

II

THE INSIDE STUFF CONFIDENTIAL

Remember, you got this first from Lait and Mortimer. And we defy anyone to call us liars — and prove it!

Only chumps bring babes with them to Mars. The temperature is a little colder there than on Earth and the air a little thinner. So Terra dames complain one mink coat doesn’t keep them warm; they need two.

On the other hand, the gravity

is considerably less than on Earth . Therefore, even the heaviest bim weighs less and can be pushed over with the greatest of ease.

However, the boys soon discov- ered that the lighter gravity played havoc with the marijuana trade. With a slight tensing of the muscles you can jump 20 feet, so why smoke “tea” when you can fly like crazy for nothing?

Martian women are bags, so perhaps you had better disregard the injunction above and bring your own, even if it means two furs.

Did you ever see an Alaska klutch (pronounced klootch)? Probably not. Well, these Arctic horrors are Ziegfeld beauts com- pared to the Martian fair sex.

They slouch with knees bent and knuckles brushing the ground, and if Ringling Bros, is looking for a mate for Gargantua, here is where to find her. Yet, their man- ner is habitually timid, as though they’ve been given a hard time. From the look in their deep-set eyes they seem to fear abduction or rape; but not even the zoot- suited goons from Greenpernt gave them a second tumble.

The visiting Mafia delegation was naturally disappointed at this state of affairs. They had been led to believe by the little guy who escorted them that all Mar- tian dames resembled Marilyn Monroe, only moi'e so, and the men were Adonises (and not Joe).

MAKS CONFIDENTIAL

9

Seems they once were, at that. This was a couple of aeons ago when Earthmen looked like Mar- tians do now, which seems to indicate that Martians, as well as Men, have their ups and downs.

The citizens of the planet are apparently about halfway down the toboggan. They wear clothes, but they're not handstitched. Their neckties don’t come from Sulka. No self-respecting goon from Gowanub would care to be seen in their company.

The females always appear in public fully clolhetl, which doesn't help them either. But covering their faces would. They buy their dresses at a place called Kress- Worth and look like Baris noii- veaii riche.

There are four separate nations there, though nation is hardly the word, it is more accurate to aiiy there are four separate clans that don’t like each other, though how they can tell the difference is beyond us. They are known as the East Side, West Side, North Si<le and Gas House gangs.

Each stays in its own back- yard. Periodic wars are fought, a few thousand of the enemy are dissolved with ray guns, after which the factions retire by com- mon consent and throw a banquet at which the losing country is forced to take the wives of the visitors, which is a twist not yet tliought of on Earth.

Martian language is unlike

anything ever heard below, ft would baffle the keenest linguist, if the keenest linguist ever gets to Mars. However, the Mafia, which is a world-wide blood brotherhood with colonies in every lan<l and clime, has a universal language. Knives and brass knucks arc understood everywhere.

The Martian lingo seems to Ik* somewhat similar to Chinese. It’s not what they say, but how they Siiy it. For instance, psonqule may mean “ J love you” or “you dirty son-of-a-bitch.”

The Mafistas soon learned to translate what the natives were saying by watching the squint in their eyes. When they siK)ke with a certain expression, the mobsters let go with 45s, which, however, merely have a stunning effect on the gent on the receiving cn<l because of the lesser gravity.

On the other hand, tlie Martian death ray guns were not fatal to the toughs from h'arlh; .anyone who can live through St. Valen- tine’s Day in Chicago can live through anything. So it came out a dead heat.

Thereupon the boys from the Syndicate sat down and declaretl the Martians in for a lifty-fifty partnership, which means they actually gave them one per cent, which is generous at that.

Never having had the great advantages of a New Deal, the Martians arc still backward ami use gold as a means of exchange.

10

AMAZING STOKIICS

With no Harvard bigdonies to tell them gold is a thing of the past, the yellow metal circulates there as freely and easily as we once kicked pennies around before they became extinct here.

The Mafistas quickly set the Martians right about the futility of gold. They eagerly turned it over to the Earthinen in exchange for green certificates with pretty pictures engraved thereon.

Ill

RACKETS VIA ROCKETS

Gold, platinum, diamonds and other precious stuff are as plenti- ful on Mars as hayfever is on Earth in August.

When the gangsters lamped the loot, their greedy eyes and greasy fingers twitched, and when a hood’s eyes and fingers twitch, watch out; something is twitch- ing.

The locals were completely honest. They were too dumb to be thieves. The natives were not acquisitive. Why should they be when gold was so common it had no value, and a neighbor’s wife so ugly no one would covet her?

This was a desperate situation, indeed, until one of the boys from East St. Louis uttered the eternal truth : “There ain’t no honest man who ain’t a crook, and why should Mars be any different?”

The difficulty was finding the means and method of corruption.

All the cash in Jake Guzik’s strong box meant nothing to a race of characters whose brats made mudpies of gold dust.

The discovery came as an acci- dent.

The first Earthman to be elim- inated on Mars was a two-bit hood from North Clark Street who sold a five-cent Hershey bar with almonds to a Martian for a gold piece worth 94 bucks.

The man from Mars bit the candy bar. The hood bit the gold piece.

Then the Martian picked up a rock and bcaned the lad from the Windy City. After which the Martian’s eyes dilated and he let out a scream. Then he attacked the first Martian female who passed by. Never before had such a thing happened on Mars, and to say she was surprised is putting it lightly. Thereupon, half the fe- male population ran after the berserk Martian.

When the organization heard about this, an Investigation was ordered. That is how the crime trust found out that there is no sugar on Mars; that this was the first time it had ever been tasted by a Martian ; that it acts on them like junk does on an Earthman.

They further discovered that the chief source of Martian diet is — believe It or not — poppy seed, hemp and coca leaf, and that the alkaloids thereof: opium, hash- heesh and cocaine have not the

MARS CONFIDENTIAL

11

slightest visible effect on them.

Poppies grow everywhere, huge russet poppies, ten times as large as those on Earth and 100 times as deadly. It is these poppies which have colored the planet red. Martians are strictly vegetarian: they bake, fry and stew these flowers and weeds and eat them raw with a goo made from fungus and called sschniorts which passes for a salad dressing.

Though the Martians were absolutely impervious to the nar- cotic qualities of the aforemen- tioned flora, they got higher than Mars on small doses of sugar.

So the Mafia was in business. The Martians sniffed granulated sugar, which they called snow. They ate cube sugar, which they called “hard stuff", and they injected molasses syrup into their veins with hypos and called this “matnliners.”

There was nothing they would not do for a pinch of sugar. Gold, platinum and diamonds, nar- cotics by the acre — these were to be had in generous exchange for sugar — which was selling on Earth at a nickel or so a pouiid ^yholesale.

The space ship went into shut- tle service. A load of diamonds and dope coming back, a load of sugar and blondes going up. Blondes made Martians higher even than sugar, and brought larger and quicker returns.

This is a confidential tip to the

South African diamond trust: ten space ship loads of precious stones are now being cut in a cellar on Bleecker Street in New York. The mob plans to retail them for $25 a carat!

Though the gangsters are buy- ing sugar at a few cents a pound here and selling it for its weight in rubies on Mars, a hood is al- ways a hood. They’ve been cut- ting dope with sugar for years on Earth, so they didn’t know how to do it any different on Mars. What to cut the sugar with on Mars? Simple. With heroin, of course, which is worthless there.

This is a brief rundown on the racket situation as it currently exists on our sister planet.

FAKED PASSPORTS: When the boys first landed they found only vague boundaries between the nations, and Martians could roam as they pleased. Maybe this is why they stayed close to home. Though anyway why should they travel? There was nothing to see.

The boys quickly took care of this. First, in order to make travel alluring, Lliey brought 20 strippers from Calumet City and set them peeling just beyond the border lines.

Then they went to the chief- tains and sold them a bill of goods (with a generous bribe of sugar) to close the borders. 'Fhe next step was to corrupt the bor- der guards, which was easy with

12

AMAZING STORIES

Annie Oakleys to do the burlesque shows.

The selling price for faked pass- ports fluctuates between a ton and three tons of platinum.

VICE: Until the arrival of the Karllunen, there were no illicit sexual relations on the planet. In fad, no Martian in his right mind would have relations with the native crop of females, and they in turn felt the same way about the males. I^ws had to be passed requiring all able-b(xlie<l citizens to marry and propagate.

'I'hus, the hrst load of bims from South Akard Street in Dallas found eager customers. But these babes, who romanced anything in pants on earth, went on a stand-up strike when they saw and smelled the Martians. Especially smelled. They smelled worse than Texas yahoos just ofT a cow farm.

This proved embarrassing, to say the least, to the procurers. Considerable sums of money were invested in this human cargo, and the boys feared dire consequences from their shylocks, should they return empty-handed.

In our other Conridentlal essays we told you how the Mafia em- ploys some of the best brains on Earth to direct aiul manage its far-flung properties, including high-priced attorneys, account- ants. real-estate experts, engi- neers and scientists.

A hurried meeting of the Grand Council was called and held in a

bungalow on the shores of one of Minneapolis’ beautiful lakes. The decision reached there was to cor- ner chlorophyl (which accounts in part for the delay in putting it on the market down here) an<.l ship it to Mars to deodorize the populace there. After which the ladies of tlie evening got off their feet and went back to work.

GAMBLING: Until the arrival of the Mafia, gambling on Mars was confined to a simple game played with children’s jacks. The loser had to relieve the winner of his wife.

The Mafia brought up some ^nc gambling equipment, includ- ing the layouts from the Colonial Inn in Florida, and the Beverly in New Orelans, both of which were closed, and taught the residents how to shoot craps and play the wheel, with the house putting up sugar against precious stones and metals. With such odds, it was not necessary to fake the games more than is customary on Earth.

IV

LITTLE NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL

Despite what Earth-hountl pro- fessors tell you about the Martian atmosphere, we know better. They weren’t there.

It is a dogma that Mars has no oxygen. Baloney. While it is true that there is considerably less than on Earth in the surface at-

MARS CONFIDENTIAL

13

mosphcre, tlic air underground, in eaves, valleys and tunnels, has plenty to support life lavishly, though why Martians want to live after they look at each other wc cannot tell you, even confidential.

I'or this reason Martian cities are built underground, and travel between them is carried on through a complicated system of subways predating the New York IRT line by several thousand centuries, though to the naked eye there is little dilTerence between a Brook- lyn express and a Mars express, yet the latter were built before the Pyramids.

When the first load of Black ^ Handers arrived, they naturally balked against living underground. It remindctl them too muc'h of the days before they went “legiti- mate” and were constantly on the lam and hiding out.

So tlic Mafia put the Martians to work building a town. There are no building materials on the planet, but the Marti.ins are adept at making gold dust hold togetlier with diamond rivets. The result of their effort — for which they were paid in peppermint sticks and lump sugar — is named Little New York, with hotels, nightclubs, bars, haberdashers, Turkish baths and horse rooms. Instead of air-conditioning, it had oxygen-conditioning. But the town had no police station.

'I’here were no cops!

Finally, a meeting was held at

which one punk asked another, “WTiat the hell kind of town is it with no cops? Who we going to bribe?”

After some discussion they cut cards. One of the Bergen County boys drew the black ace. “What do I know about being a cop?” he squawked.

“You can take graft, can’t you? You been shook down, ain’t you?”

The boys also imported a cou- ple of smart mouthpieces and a ship of blank habeas corpus forms, together with a judge who was the brother of one of the lawyers, so there was no need to build a jail in this model city.

The only ones who ever get arrested, anyway, are the Mar- tians, and they soon discovered that the coppers from Terra would look the other way for a bucket full of gold.

Until the arrival of the Earth- men, the Martians were, as stated, peaceful, and even now crime is practically unknown among them. The chief problem, however, is to keep them in line on pay nights, wlieii they go on sugar binges.

Chocolate bars are as common on Mars as saloons are on Broad- way, and It Is not unusual to see “gone” Martians getting heaved out of these bars right into the gutter. One nostalgic hood from Seattle said it reminded him of Skid Row there.

14

AM.AZING STORIES

V

THE RED RED PLANET

The jranjfsters had not been on Mars long before they heard ru- mors about other outsiders who were supposed to have landed on the other side of Ml. Sirehum.

The boys got together in a cock- tail lounge to talk this over, and they decided they weren’t going to stand for any other mobs mus- cling in.

Thereupon, they despatched four torpedoes with Tommy guns in a big black limousine to see what was going.

We tell you this Confidential. What they found was a Commu- nist apparatus sent to Mars from Soviet Russia.

This cell was so active that Commies had taken over almost half the planet before the arrival of the Mafia, with their domain extending from the Deucalionis Region all the way over to Pha- elhoniis and down to Tilania.

Furthermore, through propa- ganda and infiltration, there were Communist cells in every quarter of the planet, and many of the top officials of the four Martian governments were either secretly party members or openly in fronts.

The Communist battle cry was: “Men of Mars unite; you have nothing to lose but your wives.”

Comes the revolution, they were told, and all Martians could remain bachelors. It is no wonder

the Communists made such in- roads. The planet became known as “The Red Planet.”

In their confidential books about the cities of Earth, 1 .ait and Mor- timer explored the community of interest between the organized underworld and the Soviet.

Communists are in favor of anything that causes civil disorder and unrest: gangsters have no conscience and will do business with anyone who pays.

On Earth, Russia floods the Western powers, and especially the United States, with narcotics, first to weaken them and provide easy prey, and second, for dollar exchange.

And on Earth, the Mafia, which is another international conspir- acy like the Communists, sells the narcotics.

At.\RS CONFIDENTIAL

15

And so when the gangsters heard there were Communist cells on Mars, they quickly made a contact.

For most of the world’s cheap sugar comes from Russia 1 The Mafia inroad on the American sugar market had already driven cane up more than 300 per cent. But the Russians were anxious, able and willing to provide all the beets they wanted at half the com- petitive price.

VI

THE HONEST HOODS

As we pointed out in previous works, the crime syndicate now owns so much money, its chief problem is to find ways in which to invest it.

As a result, the Mafia and its allies control thousands of legiti- mate enterprises ranging from ho-

tel chains to railroads and from laundries to distilleries.

And so it was on Mars. With all the rackets cornered, the gang- sters decided it was time to go into some straight businesses.

At the next get-together of the Grand Council, the following con- versation was heard :

“What do these mopes need that they ain’t getting?”

“A big fat hole in the head.”

“Cut it out. This is serious.”

“A hole in the head ain’t seri- ous?”

"There’s no profit in them one- shot deals.”

“It’s the repeat business you make the dough on.”

“Maybe you got something there. You can kill a jerk only once.”

“But a jerk can have rela- tives.”

“We’re talking about legit stuff.

16

AMAZING STORIES

All the rest has been taken care of.”

■‘With the Martians I’ve seen, a bar of soap could be a big thing.”

From this random suggestion, there sprang up a major intcr- I)lanetary project. If the big soap companies are wondering where all that soap went a few years ago, we can tell them.

It went to Mars.

* Soap caught on immediately. It was snapped up as fast as it ar- rived.

But several (juestions ix>pix.h1 into the minds of the Mafia soap salesman.

Where was it all going? A Martian, in line for a bar in tiie evening, was back again the fol- lowing morning for another one.

And why did the Martians stay just as dirty as ever?

'I'he answer was, the Martians

stayed as dirty as ever because they weren’t using the soap to wash with. They were eating it!

It cured the hangover from sugar.

Another group cornered the un- dertaking business, adding a twist that made for more activity. 'Fhey added a Department of Elimina- tion. The men in ch.arge of this end of the business circulate through the ch(x:olate and soap bars, politely inquiring, ‘‘Who would you like killed?”

Struck with the novelty of the thing, quite a few Martians re- member other Martians they ard mad at. The going price is one hundred carats of diamonds to kill; which is cheap considering the average laborer earns 10,000 carats a week.

Then the boys from the more dignified end of the business <lrop in at the home of the victim and

MARS CONFIDENTIAL

17

offtT to bury him cheap. Two hun- dred and fifty carats gets a Mar- tian planted in style.

Inasmuch as Martians live un- derground, burying is done in reverse, by tying a rocket to the tail of the deceased and shooting hint out into the stratosphere.

VII

ONE UNIVERSE CONFIDENTIAL

Mars is presently no problem to Earth, and will not be until we have all its gold and the Martians begin asking us for loans.

Meanwhile, Lait and Mortimer say let the gangsters and com- munists have it. We don’t want it.

We believe Earth would weaken

itself if It dissi|xiled its assets on foreign planets. Instead, we should heavily arm our own satel- lites, which will make us secure from attack by an alien planet or constellation.

At the same time, we should build an overw’helming force of space ships capable of delivering lethal blows to the outermost corners of the universe and return without refueling.

VVe have seen the futility of meddling in everyone’s business on Earth. Let's not make that mistake in space. We are unalter- ably opposed to the UP (United Planets) and call upon the gov- ernments of Earth not to join that T n ter-Solar System lioondoggic.

We have enough trouble right here.

THE APPENDIX CONFIDENTIAL:

Blast-off: The equivalent of the take-off of Terran aviation. Space ships blast-off into space. Not to be confused w'ith the report of a sawed-off shot gun.

Blcsthig pit: Place from which a space ship blasts off. Guarded area where the intense heat from the jets melts the ground. Also used for cock-fights.

Spacemen: Those who man the space ships. See any comic strip.

Hairoscope: A very sensitive instru- ment for space navigation. The sighting plate thereon is cen-

tered around two crossed hairs. Because of the vastness of space.' very fine hairs are used. These hairs are obtained from the Glomph-Frog, found only in the heart of the dense Venusian swamps. The hairoscop>e is a must in space navigation. Then how did they get to Venus to get the hair from the Glomph- Frog? Read Venus Confiden- tial.

Multiplanetary agitation: The inter- spacial methods by which the Russians compete for the minds

i$

AM.\ZING STORIES

of the Neptunians and the Pluto- nians and the Gowaniuns.

Space suit: The clothing worn by those who go into space. The men are put into modernistic diving suits. The dames wear bras and pan- ties.

Orav-plaUs: A form of magnetic shoe worn by spacemen while stand- ing on the outer hull of a space ship halfway to Mars. VV'hy a spaceman wants to stand on the outer hull of a ship halfway to Mars is not clear. Possibly to win a bet.

Space platform: A man-made satellite rotating around Earth between here and the Moon. Scientists say this is a necessary first step to interplanetary travel. Mars Confidential proves the fallacy of this theory.

Space Academy: A college where young men are trained to he space- men. The student body consi,sts mainly of cadets who served apprenticeships as elevator jock- eys.

AsUruids: Tiny worlds floating around in space, put there no doubt to annoy unwary space ships.

Extrapolation: The process by wliich a science-fiction writer takes an established scientific fact and builds thereon a story that couldn’t happen in a million years, but maybe 2,000,000.

Science fiction: A genre of escape litera- ture which takes the reader to far-away planets — and usually neglects to bring him back.

S.F.: An abbreviation for science fic- tion.

Bern: A word derived by using the firet letters of the three words; Bug

Eyed Monster. Bems are ghastly looking creatures in general. In science-fiction yarns written by Terrans, bems are natives of Mars. In science-fiction yarns written by Martians, bems are natives of Terra.

The pile: The source from which power is derived to carry men to the stars. Optional on the more ex- pensive space ships, at extra cost.

Atom blaster: A gun carried by space- men which will melt people down to a cinder. A .45 would do just as well, but then there’s the Sullivan Act.

Orbit: The path of any heavenly body. The bodies are held in these orbits by natural laws the Re- publicans are thinking of repeal- ing.

Nova: The explosive stage into which planets may pass. According to the finest scientific thinking, a planet will either nova, or it won’t.

Galaxy: A term used to confuse people who have always called it Tlie Milky Way.

Sun spots: Vast electrical storms on the sun which interfere with radio reception, said interference be- ing advantageous during polit- ical campaigns.

Atomic cannons: Things that go zap.

Audio screen: Television without Mil- ton Berle or wrestling.

Disintegrating ray: Something you can't see that turns something you can see into something you can’t see.

Geiger counter: Something used to count Geigers.

{Continued on page 161)

M.VRS CONFIDENTIAL

19

lUnslralor: William Ashman

PROJECT

NIQHTMARE

by ROBERT HEINLEIN

You’ve heard, of course, the theory that an enemy can hide atom bombs in our cities, then call on us to surrender or be blcnvn to bits. Say such bombs were planted; what could we do about it? Find them before they explode? How? No mechanical means exist to do the job, nor can every building in forty cities be searched in, say, two hours. Since Americans don't quit under any circumstances, what's the answer?

Robert Ileinlein, Mr. Science Fiction himself, has taken this same situation and woven it into an exciting hunk of melodrama. While his solution to the problem is unique and ingenious, it is solidly based on a phenomenon most of us have run across at one time or another.

Fur’s your ix)int. Roll ’em!”

“Anybody want a side bet on double deuces?”

No one answered; the old soldier rattled dice in a glass, pitched them against the washroom wall. One turned up a deuce; the other spun. Somebody yelled, “It’s going to five! Come, Phoebe!”

It stopped — a two. The old soldier said, “ 1 told you not to play with me. Anybody want cigarette money?”

“Pick it up. Pop. We don’t — oh, oh ! ’Tanshun!”

In the door stood a civilian, a colonel, and a captain. The

20

21

civilian said, "Give the money back, Two-Gun."

"Okay, Prof." The old soldier extracted two singles. ‘‘That much is mine."

"Stop!" objected the captain. ‘‘I’ll impound that for evidence. Now, you men -

The colonel stopped him. ‘‘Mick. Forget that you’re ad- jutant. Private Andrews, come along." He went out; the others followed. Tliey hurried through the enlisted men's club, out into desert sunshine and across the <juadrangle.

The civilian said, "Two-Gun, ■what the deuce!”

"Shucks, Prof, I was just prac- ticing,”

"Why don’t you practice against <jrandma Wilkins?”

The soldier snorted. " Do I look silly?"

The colonel put in, "You’re keeping a crowd of generals and V.l.P.s waiting. That isn’t bright.”

“Colonel Hammond, I was told to wait in the club.”

"But not in its washroom. Step it up!”

They went inside headquarters to a hall where guards checked their passes before letting them in. A civilian was speaking:

— and that’s the story of the history-making experiments at Duke University. Doctor Reyn- olds is back; he will conduct the demonstrations.”

The officers sat down in the

rear; Dr. Reynolds went to the speaker’s table. Private Andrews sat down with a group set apart from the high brass and distin- guished civilians of the audience. A character who looked like a professional gambler — and was sat next to two beautiful red- heads, identical twins. A four- teen-year-old Negro boy slumped in the next chair; he seemed asleep. Beyond him a most wide- awake person, Mrs. Anna Wil- kins, tatted and looked around. In the second row were college students and a drab middle-aged man.

The table held a chuck-a-luck cage, packs of cards, scratch pads, a Geiger counter, a lead carrying case. Reynolds leaned on it and said, "Extra-Sensory Perception, or E.S.P., is a tag for little-known phenomena — telepathy, clair- voyance, clairaudience, precogni- tion, telekinesis. They exist ; we can measure them; we know that some people are thus gifted. But we don’t know how they work. The British, In India during World War One, found that se- crets were being stolen by telep- athy." Seeing doubt in their faces Reynolds added, "It is conceiva- ble that a spy five hundred miles away is now ‘listening in’ — and picking your brains of top-secret data."

Doubt was more evident. A four-star Air Force general sai<l.

22

AMAZING STORIKS

“One moment, Doctor — if true, what can we do to stop it?"

“Nothing."

“That's no answer. A lead- lined room?"

“We've tried that, General. No effect. ”

“Jamming with high frequen- cies? Or whatever ‘brain waves’ are?"

“Possibly, though I doubt it. If E.S.P. becomes militarily im- portant you may have to operate with all facts known. Back to our program: These ladies and gentle- men are powerfully gifted in tele- kinesis, the ability to control mat- ter at a distance. Tomorrow’s ex- periment may not succeed, but wc hope to convince the doubting Thomases" — he smiled at a man in the rear — “that it is worth trying."

The man he looked at stood up. “General Hanby!"

An Army major general looked around. "Yes, Doctor Withers?"

"1 ask to be excused. My desk is loaded with urgent work — and these games have nothing to do witii me.”

The commanding general started to assert himself; the four-star visitor put a hand on his sleeve. “ Doctor Withers, my desk in Washington is piled high, but I am here because the President sent me. Will you please stay? I want a skeptical check on my judgment."

Withers sat down, still angry.

Reynolds continued: “We will start with E.S.P. rather than tele- kinesis — which is a bit different, anyhow.” He turntKl to one of the redheads. “Jane, will you come here? "

The girl answered, “Pm Joan. Sure."

“All right — Joan. General La- Moti, will you draw something on this scratch pad?”

The four-star flyer cocked an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Not too complicated.”

“Right, Doctor.” He thought, then began a cartoon of a girl, grinned and added a pop-eyerl wolf. Shortly he looked up. “Okay?”

Joan had kept busy with an- other pad; Reynolds took hers to the general. The sketches were alike — except that Joan had added four stars to the wolf’s shoulders. The general looked at her; she looked demure. “I'm convinced," he said drily. “What next?”

“That could be clairvoyance or telepathy," Reynolds lectured. “We will now show direct telep- athy.” He called the second twin to him, then said, “Doctor With- ers, will you help us?”

Withers still looked surly. “With what?"

“The same thing — but Jane will watch over your shoulder while Joan tries to reproduce what you draw. Make it some- thing harder.”

PROJECT NIGHTMARE

23

“Well . . . okay.” He took the pad, began sketching a radio cir- cuit while Jane watched. He signed it with a “Clem”, the radioman’s cartoon of the little fellow peering over a fence.

“That’s fine!” said Reynolds. “Finished, Joan?”

“Yes, Do('tor.” He fetched her pad; the diagram was correct — but Joan had added to “Clem” a wink.

Reynolds Interrupted awed comment with, “I will skip card demonstrations and turn to tele- kinesis. “Has anyone a pair of dice?” No one volunteered; he went on, “We have some supplied by your physics department. 'I'his chuck-a-luck cage is signed and sealed by them and so is this package.” Me broke it open, spilled out a dozen dice. “'Pwo- Gun, how about some naturals?”

“ ril try, Prof.”

“General LaMott, please select a pair and put them in this cup.”

The general complied and handed the cup to Andrews. “What are you going to roll, soldier? ”

"Would a si.xty-five suit the General?”

“ If you can.”

“Would the Genera! care to put up a five spot, to make it in- teresting?” He waited, wide-eyed and innocent.

La Mott grinned. “You're faded, soldier.” He peeled out a

24

five; Andrews covered it, rat- tled the cup and rolled. One die stopped on the bills — a five. The other bounced against a chair — a six.

“Let it ride, sir?”

“I’m not a sucker twice. Show us some naturals.”

“As you say, sir.” Two-Gun picked up the money, then rolled 6-1, 5-2, 4-3, and back again. He rolled several 6-ls, then got snake eyes. He tried again, got acey-deucey. lie faced the little old lady. “Ma’am,” he said, “if you want to roll, why don't you get down here and do the work?”

“Why, Mr. Andrews!”

Reynolds said hastily, “You’ll get your turn, Mrs. Wilkins.”

“ I don’t know what you gentle- men are talking about.” She re- sumed tatting.

Colonel Hammond sat down by the redheads. “You’re the Janu- ary Twins — aren't you?”

“Our public!” one answered delightedly.

“The name is 'Brown’,” said the other,

“‘Brown’,” he agreed, “but how about a show for the boys?”

“Dr. Reynolds wouldn’t like it,” the first said dutifully.

“I’ll handle him. We don’t get USO; security regulations are too strict. How about it, Joan?"

“I’m Jane. Okay, If you fix it with Prof.”

“Good girls!” He went back to where Grandma Wilkins was dem-

AMAZING STORIES

onstrating selection — showers of sixes in the chuck-a-luck cage. She was still tatting. Ur. Withers watched glumly. Hammond said, “Well, Doc?“

“These things are disturbing,’’ Withers admitted, “but it’s on the molar level — nothing affect- ing the elementary particles.”

“How about those sketches?”

“I’m a physicist, not a psy- chologist. But the basic particles — electrons, neutrons, protons — can’t be affected except with ap- paratus designed in accordance with the laws of radioactivity!”

Dr. Reynolds was in earshot; at Withers’ remark he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins. Now, ladies and gentlemen, another experi- ment. Norman!”

The colored boy opened his eyes. “Yeah, Prof?”

“Up here. And the team from your physics laboratory, please. Has anyone a radium-dial watch?”

Staff technicians hooked the Geiger counter through an am- plifier so that normal background radioactivity was heard as oc- casional clicks, then placed a radium-dial watch close to the counter tube; the clicks changed to hail-storm volume. “Lights out, please,” directed Reynolds.

d'he boy said, “Now, Prof?”

“Wait, Norman. Can everyone see the watch?” I'he silence was broken only by the rattle of the amplifier, counting radioactivity

of the glowing figures. “Now, Norman!”

The shining figures quenched out; the noise died to sparse clicks.

The same group was in a block- house miles out In the desert; more miles beyond was the bomb proving site; facing it was a peri- scope window set in concrete and glazed with solid feet of laminated filter glass. Dr. Reynolds was talk- ing with Major General Hanby. A naval captain took reports via earphones and speaker horn; he turned to the C.O. “Planes on station, sir.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

The horn growled, “Station Charlie to Control; we fixed it.”

The navy man said to Hanby, “All stations ready, range clear.”

“Pick up the count.”

“All stations, stand by to re- sume count at minus seventeen minutes. Time station, pick up the count. This is a live run. Repeat, this is a live run.”

Hanby said to Reynolds, “ Dis- tance makes no difference?”

"We could work from Salt Lake City once my colleagues knew the setup.” He glanced down. “My watch must have stopped.”

“Always feels that way. Re- member the metronome on the first Bikini test? it nearly drove me nuts.”

“ I can imagine. Um, General, some of my people are high-strung. Suppose I ad lib?”

Hanby smiled grimly. “We al-

25

PROJECT NIGHTMARE

ways have a pacifier for visitors. Doctor Withers, ready with your curtain raiser?"

The chief physicist was bending over a group at instruments; he looked tired. "Not today," he answered in a fiat voice. "Sat- terlee will make it.”

Satterlee came forward and grinned at tlie brass and V.I.P.s and at Reynolds’ operators. " I've been saving a joke for an audience that can’t walk out. But first — ” He picked up a polished metal sphere and looked at the E.S.P. adepts. "You saw a ball like this on your tour this morning. That one was plutonium; it’s still out there waiting to go bang! In about . . . eleven minutes. This is merely steel — unless someone has made a mistake. That would be a joke

— we’d laugh ourselves to bits!”

He got no laugh, went on: "But

it doesn’t weigh enough; we’re safe. This dummy has been pre- pared so that Dr. Reynolds’ peo- ple will have an image to help them concentrate. It looks no more like an atom bomb than 1 look like Stalin, but it represents

— if it were plutonium — what we atom tinkerers call a ‘sub- critical mass’. Since the spy trials everybody knows how an atom bomb works. Plutonium gives off neutrons at a constant rate. If the mass is small, most of them escape to the outside. But if it is large enough, or a critical mass, enough are absorbed by other

nuclei to start a chain reaction. The trick is to assemble a critical mass quickly — then run for your life! d'his happens in microsec- onds; I can’t be specific without upsetting the security officer.

"Today we will find out if the mind can change the rate of neu- tron emission in plutonium. By theories sound enough to have destroyed two Japanese cities, the emission of any particular neu- tron is pure chance, but the total emission is as invariable as the stars in their courses. Otherwise it would be impossible to make atom bombs.

“By standard theory, theory that works, that subcritical mass out there is no more likely to explode than a pumpkin. Our test group will try to change that. They will concentrate, try to in- crease the probability of neutrons’ escaping, and thus set off that sphere as an atom bomb.”

“Doctor Satterlee?" asked a vice admiral with wings. "Do you think it can be done?”

Absolutely not!" Satterlee turned to the adepts. " No offense intended, folks.”

" Five minutes! ” announced the navy captain.

Satterlee nodded to Reynolds, "Take over. And good luck.”

Mrs. Wilkins spoke up. "Just a moment, young man. These ‘neuter’ things. 1 — ■”

"Neutrons, madam.”

26

AMAZING STORIES

"'riiat’s what I said. 1 tloii’t quite understand. I suppose that sort of thing comes in high scliool, l)ut 1 only finished eighth grade. I’m sorry."

Sattcriee looked sorry, too, but he tried. “ — and each of tliesc nuclei is potentially able to spit out one of these little neutrons, in that sphere out there" he held up the dummy — " there are, say, five thousand billion trillion nuclei, each one — ’’

"My, tliat’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”

“Madam, it certainly is. Now — "

"Two minutes!”

Reynolds interrupted. "Mrs. Wilkins, don’t worry. Concen- trate on that metal bail out there and think about those neutrons, each one ready to come out. When I give the word, I want you all — you especially, Norman ■ — to think about that ball, spitting sparks like a watch dial. Try for more sparks. Simply try. If you fail, no one will blame you. Don’t get tense."

Mrs. Wilkins nodded, “I'll try.” She put her tatting down and got a faraway look.

At once they were bliiulc«l by unbelievable radiance bursting through the massive filter. It beat on them, then died away.

The naval captain said, "What the hell!" Someone screamed, ” It’s gone, it’s gone!"

The speaker brayed: "Fission

at minus one minute thirty-seven seconds. Control, what went wrong. It looks like a hydro- gen—”

The concussion wave hit and all sounds were smothered. Lights went out, emergency lighting clicked on. The blockhouse heaved like a boat in a heavy sea. Their eyes were still dazzled, their ears assaulted by cannonading after- noise, and physicists were elbow- ing flag officers at the port, when an anguished soprano cut through the din. "Oh, dear! ’’

Reynolds snapped, “What’s the matter. Grandma? You all right?’*

"Me? Oh, yes, yes- but I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it."

" Do what?”

" I was just feeling it out, think- ing about all those little bitty neuters, ready to spit. But I didn't mean to make it go off — not till you told us to."

"Oh.” Reynolds turned to the rest. "Anyone else jump the gun?”

No one admitted it. Mrs. Wil- kins said timidly, "I'm sorry. Doctor. Have they got another one? I’ll be more careful.”

^ Reynolds and Withers w'crc seated in the officers’ mess with coffee in front of them; the phys- ici.st pairl no attention to his. His eyes glittered and his face twitched. “No limits! Calcula- tions show over ninety per cent conversion of mass to energy.

PROJECT NIGIITM.\RE

27

You know what that means? If we assume — no, never mind. Just say that we could make every bomb the size of a pea. No tamper. No control circuits. Nothing but ...” He paused. “Delivery would be fast, small jets — just a pilot, a weaponeer, and one of your ‘operators’. No limit to the number of bombs. No nation on earth could — ”

“Take it easy,” said Reynolds. “We’ve got only a few telekinesis operators. You wouldn’t risk them in a plane.”

“ But — ”

“You don’t need to. Show them the bombs, give them photos of the targets, hook them by radio to the weaponeer. That spreads them thin. And we’ll test for more sensitive people. My figures show about one in eighteen hundred.”

“ ‘Spread them thin’,” repealed Withers. “Mrs. Wilkins could handle dozens of bombs, one after another — couldn’t she? ”

“ I suppose so. We'll test.”

“We will indeed!” Withers no- ticed his coffee, gulped It. “For- give me, Doctor; I'm punchy. I've had to revise too many opinions.”

“ I know. I was a behaviorist.”

Captain Mikelef came in, looked around and came over. “The General wants you both,” he said softly. “Hurry.”

They were ushered into a guarded office. Major General Hanby was with General LaMott

and V'ice Admiral Keithley; they looked grim. Hanby handed them message flimsies. Reynolds saw the stamp TOP SECRET and handed his back. “General, I'm not cleared for this.”

“Shut up and read it.”

Reynolds skipped the number groups: “ — (PARAPHRASED) RUSSIAN EMBASSY TODAY HANDED STATE ULTIMA- TUM: DEMANDS USA CON- VERT TO 'PEOPLE’S REPUB- LIC’ UNDER POLITICAL COMMISSARS TO BE AS- SIGNED BY USSR. MILI- TARY ASSURANCES DE- MANDED. NOTE CLAIMS MAJOR US CITIES (LIST SEP- ARATE) ARE MINED WITH ATOMIC BOMBS WHICH THEY THREATEN TO SET OFF BY RADIO IF TERMS ARE NOT MET BY SIXTEEN HUNDRED FRIDAY EST.”

Revnolds reread it — “SIX- TEEN HUNDRED FRIDAY” — two o’clock tomorrow after- noon, local time. Our cities booby- trapped with A-bombs? Could they do that? He realized that LaMott was speaking. “We must assume that the threat is real. Our free organization makes it an obvious line of attack.”

The admiral said, “They may be bluffing.”

The air general shook his head. “They know the President won't surrender. We can’t assume that Ivan is stupid.”

28

AMAZING STORIES

Reynolds wondered why he was being allowed to hear this. La- Mott looked at him. “Admiral Keilhley and I leave for Wash- ington at once. I have delayetl to ask you this: your people set off an atom bomb. Can they keep bombs from going off?”

Reynolds felt his time sense stretch as if he had all year to think about Grandma Wilkins, Norman, his othec paranormals. “Yes,” he answered.

LaMoit stood up. “Your job, Hanby. Coming, Admiral?”

“Wait!” protested Reynolds. “Give me one bomb and Mrs. Wilkins — and I’ll sit on It. But how many cities? Twenty? Thirty?”

“Tliirty-eight.”

“Thirty-eight bombs — or more. Where are they? What do they look like? How long will this go on? It’s impossible.”

“Of course- — but do it any- how. Or try. Ilanby, tell them we’re on our way, will you?”

“('ertainly. General.”

“Good-by, Doctor. Or so long, rather.”

Reynolds suddenly realized that tlteso two were going back to “sit” on one of the bombs, to continue their duties until it killed them. He said quickly, “We'll try. Wc’ll certainly try.”

Thirty-eight cities . . . forty- three hours . . . and seventeen adepts. Others vvere listed in

years of research, but they wera scattered through forty-one states. In u dictatorship secret police would locate them at once, deliver them at supersonic speeds. But this was America.

Find them! Get them here! Fast! Hanby assigned Colonel Hammond to turn Reynolds’ wishes into orders and directed his security officer to delegate his duties, get on the plfone and use his acquaintance with the I'.B.l., with other security officers, and through them witli local police, to cut red tape and find those paranormals. I'iiid them, convince them, bring pressure, start them winging toward the proving ground. By sundown, twenty- three had been found, eleven liad been convinced or coerced, two had arrived. Hanby phoned Reyn- olds, caught him eating a sand- wich standing up. “Hanby speak- ing. The President just phoned.”

“The President?”

“LaMott got in to see him. He's dubious, but he’s authorized an all-out try, short of slowing down conventional defense. One of his assistants left National Airport by jet plane half an hour ago to come here and liclp. Things will move faster.”

Rut it did not speed things up, as the Russian broadcast was even then being beamed, making the crisis public; the President went on the air thirty minutes later. Reynolds did not hear him;

FROJIiCT NIGHTMARE

29

he was busy. Twenty people to save twenty cities — and a world. But how? He was sure that Mrs. Wilkins could smother any A- bomb she had seen; he hoped the others could. But a hidden bomb in a far-oflf city — find it mentally, think about it, quench it, not for the microsecond it took to set one off, but for the billions of micro- seconds it might take to uncover it — was it possible?

What would help? Certain drugs — caffeine, benzedrine. They must have quiet, too. He turned to Hammond. “I want a room and bath for each one.”

■‘You’ve got that.”

"No. we’re doubled up, with semi-private baths.”

Hammond shrugged. “Can do. It means bcxjting out some brass.”

“Keep the kitchen manned. They must not sleep, but they’ll have to eat. Fresh coffee all the time and cokes and tea — any- thing they want. Can you put the room phones through a private switchboard?”

“Okay. What el.se?”

”1 don’t know. We’ll talk to them.”

They all knew of the Russian broadcast, but not what was being planned; they met his words with uneasy silence. Reynolds turned to Andrews. “Well, Two-Gun?”

“Big bite to chew, Prof.”

“Yes. Can you chew it?”

“Have to, I reckon.”

“Xorman?”

"Gee, Boss! How can 1 when I can’t see ’em?”

” Mrs. Wilkins couldn't see that bomb this morning. You can’t see radioactivity on a watch dial; it’s too small. You just see the dial and think about it. Well?”

'Phe Negro lad scowled. ” Phink of a shiny ball in a city some- where?”

‘‘Yes. No, wait — Colonel Hammond, they need a visual image and it won’t be that. There are atom bombs here ' — they must see. one.”

Hammond frowned. “An Amer- ican bomb meant for droj^ping or firing won’t look like a Russian bomb rigged for placement and radio triggering.”

‘‘What will they look like?”

‘‘G-2 ought to know. 1 hoi^e. We’ll get some sort of picture. A three-dimensional mock-up, too. I'd better find Withers and the General.” He left.

Mrs. Wilkins said briskly, “Doctor, ril watch Washington, D. C.”

“Yes. Mrs. Wilkins. You’re the only one who has been testetl, even in reverse. So you guard Washington; It’s of prime im- portance.”

“No, no, that’s not why. It’s the city I can see best.”

Andrews said, “She’s got some- thing, Prof. I pick Seattle.”

By midnight Reynolds had his charges,” twenty-six by now,

30

AM.\ZING STOklliS

tucked away in the officers’ club. Hammond and he took turns at a switchboard rigged in the upper hall. The watch would not start until shortly before deadline. Fa- tigue reduced paranormal powers, sometimes to zero; Reynolds hoped that they were getting one last night of sleep.

A microphone had been in- stalled in each room ; a selector switch let them listen In. Reyn- olds disliked this but Hammond argued, “Sure, it’s an invasion of privacy. So is being blown up by an A-bomb.” He dialed the switch. “Hear that? Our boy Norman is sawing wood.” He moved it again. “Private ‘Two-Gun’ is still stir- ring. We can’t let them sleep, once it starts, so we have to spy on them.”

“ I suppose so.”

Withers came upstairs. “Any- thing more you need?”

“I guess not,” answered Reyn- olds. “How about the bomb mock-up? ”

“Before morning,”

“How authentic is it?”

“Hard to say. Their agents pro])abIy rigged firing circuits from radio parts bought right here; the circuits could vary a lot. But the business part — well, we're using real plutonium.”

“Good. We’ll show It to them after breakfast.”

'I'wo-Gxin’s door opened. “Howdy, Colonel. Prof it’s there.”

PROJECT NIGHTMARE

“What is?”

“The bomb. Under Seattle. I can feel it.”

“ Where is it? “

“It’s down — it feels down. And it feels wet, somehow. Would they put it in the Sound?”

Hammond jumped up. “In the harbor — and shower the city with radioactive water!” He was? ringing as he spoke. ' ‘ Get me Gen- eral Hanby!”

“Morrison here,” a voice an- swered. “What is it, Hammond?”

“The Seattle bomb — have them dredge for it. It’s in the Sound, or somewhere under wa- ter.”

“Eh? How do you know?”

“One of Reynolds’ magicians. Do it!” He cut off.

Andrews said worriedly, “Prof, I can’t see it • I'm not a ‘seeing- eye.’ Why don’t you get one? Say that little Mrs. Brentano?”

“Oh, my God! Clairvoyants — we need them, too.”

Withers said, “Eh, Doctor? Do you think — ”

“No, 1 don’t, or I would have thought of it. How do they search for bombs? What instruments?”

“Instruments? A bomb in its shielding doesn’t even affect . a Geiger counter. You have to open things and look.”

“How long will that take? Say for New York!”

Hammond said, “Shut up! Reynolds, where are these clair- voyants?”

Reynolds chewed his lip. “Thej‘’re scarce.”

“Scarcer than us dice rollers,” added Two-Gun. “But get that Brentano kid. She found keys 1 had lost digging a ditch. Buried three feet deep — and me search- ing my quarters.”

“Yes, yes, Mrs. Brentano.” Reynolds pulled out a notebook.

Hammond reached for the switchboard. “Morrison? Stand by for more names • and even more urgent than the others.”

More urgent but harder to find; the Panic was on. The Presi- dent urged everyone to keep cool and stay home, whereupon thirty million people stampeded. The ticker in the P.I.O. office typed the story: “NEW YORK NY — TO CLEAR JAM CAUSED BY WRECKS IN OUTBOUND TUBE THE INBOUND TUBE OF HOLLAND TUNNEL HAS BEEN REVERSED. POLICE HAVE STOPPED TRYING TO PREVENT EVACUATION. BULLDOZERS WORKING TO REOPEN TRTBOROUGH BRIDGE, BLADES SHOVING WRECKED CARS AND HU- MAN HAMBURGER. WEE- HAWKEN FERRY DISASTER CONFIRMED: NO PASSEN- GER LIST YET— FLASH — GEORGE WASHINGTON BRIDGE GAVE WAY AT 0353 EST, WHETHER FROM OVERLOAD OR SABOTAGE

32

AMAZING STORIES

NOT KNOWN. MORE MORE MORE— FLASH — ”

It was reiicated everywhere. I'he Deiiver-Colorado Springs highway had one hundred thirty- five deaths by midnight, then reports stopped. A DC-6 at Bur- bank ploughed into a mob which hatl broken through tlu‘ harrier. I'he Baltimore- Washington high- way was dogged • both ways; Memorial Bridge was out of serv- ice. rhe five outlets from Los An- gelos were solid with crecj')ing cars. At four a.m. EST the Presi- <lent declared martial law; the order had no immediate effect.

By morning Reynolds had thirty-one adepts assignetl to twenty-four cities. He had a stoitiach-churning ordeal l>efore decitling to let them work f>nly cities known to them, d'he gam- bler, Even-Money Karsch, had settled It: “Doc, I know when I’m hot. Minneapolis hus to be mine.” Reynokis gave in, even though one of his sttidcnts had just arrived from there; he i)ut them both on it and prayed that at least one would l>e “hot”. I'wo clairvoyants arrived; one, a blind newsdealer from Chicago, was put to searching there; the other, a cariiie mcntalist, was given the list and told to find bombs wlicrever she could. Mrs. Brentano had remarried and moved ; Norfolk was being combed for Iter.

At one fifteen p.m., forty-five

minutes before deadline, they were In tlieir rooms, each with maps and aerial views of his city, each with photo.s of tlie mocked- up bomb. The club was clear of residents; the few normals needed to coddle the paranormals kept careful quiet. Roads nearby were blocked; air traffic was warned away. Everything was turned to- ward providing an atmosphere in which forty-two people could sit still and fhink.

At the switchboard were Ham- mond. Reynokis, and Gordon McClintock, the President’s as- sistant. Reynokis glanced up. “What time is it?”

“One thirty-seven,’* rasped Hammond. “Twenty-three min- utes.”

“One thirty-eight,” disagreed McClintock. “Reynolds, how about Detroit? You can’t leave it unguarded.”

“Whom can I use? Each is guarding the city he knows best.”

“Those twin girls — I heard them mention Detroit.”

“They’ve played everywhere. But Pittsburgh is their home.”

“Switch one of them to De- troit.”

Reynolds thought of telling him to go to Detroit himself. “They work together. You want to get them upset and lose both cities?”

Instead of answering McClin- tock said, "And who's watching Cleveland?”

I’KtiJKCT NIGHTMAKK

33

“Norman Johnson. He lives there and he’s our second strong- est operator.”

They were interrupted by voices downstairs. A man came up, car- rying a bag, and spotted Reyn- olds. "Oh, hello. Doctor. What is this? I’m on top priority work — tank production — when the P.B.I. grabs me. You are responsi- ble?”

"Yes. Come with me.” McClin- tock started to speak, but Reyn- olds led the man away. “Mr. Nelson, did you bring your fam- ily?”

“No, they’re still in Detroit. Had 1 known — ”

"Please! Listen carefully.” He explained, pointed out a map of Detroit in the room to which they went, showed him pictures of tlie simulated bomb. "You under- stand?”

Nelson’s jaw muscles were jumping. "It seems impossible.”

"It is possible. You’ve got to think about that bomb — or bombs. Get in touch, squeeze them, keep them from going off. You’ll have to stay awake.”

Nelson breathed gustily. "I'll stay awake.”

"That phone will get you any- thing you want. Good luck.”

He i>asscd the room occupied by the blind clairvoyant; the door was open. "Harry, it’s Prof. Getting anything?”

The man turned to the voice.

“ It’s in the Loop. I could walk to it if I were there. A six-story building.”

"That's the best you can do?”

"Tell them to try the attic. I get warm when I go up.”

"Right away!” He rushed back, saw that Hanby had arrived. Swiftly he keyed the communica- tions office. "Reynolds speaking. The Chicago, bomb Is in a six- story building in the Loop area, probably in the attic. No — that’s all. G’by!”

Hanby started to speak; Reyn- olds shook his head and looked at his watch. Silently the General picked up the phone. "This is the commanding officer. Have any flash sent here.” He put the phone down and stared at his watch.

For fifteen endless minutes they Stood silent. The general broke it by taking the phone and say- ing, "Hanby. Anything?”

“No, General. Washington is on the wire.”

“Eh? You say Washington?”

“Yes, sir. Here’s the General, Mr. Secretary.”

Hanby sighed. “Hanby speak- ing, Mr. Secretary. You’re all right? Washington ... is all right?”

They could hear the relayed voice. "Certainly, certainly. We're past the deadline. But I wanted to tell you: Radio Moscow is telling the world that our cities are in flames.”

34

AMAZING STORIF.S

Hanby hesitated. “None of them are?’’

“Certainly not. I’ve a talker hooked in to GHQ, which has an open line to every city listed. All safe. I don’t know whether your freak people did any good but, one way or another, it was a false — “ The line went dead.

Ilanby’s face went dead with it. jiggled the phone. “I've been cut off!”

“ Not here, General — at the other end. Just a moment.”

'I'hey waited. Presently the op- erator said, “Sorry, sir. I can’t get them to answer ”

“Keep trying!”

It was slightly over a minute — it merely seemed longer — when the operator said, “Here’s your party, sir.’’

“That you, Hanby?” came the voice. “I suppose we’ll have l)hc)ne troubles just as wc had last time. Now, about these ESP peo- ple: while we are grateful and all that, nevertheless I suggest that nothing be released to the papers. Might be misinterpreted.”

“Oh. Is that an orfler, Mr. Secretary?”

"Oh, no, no! But have such things routed through my office.”

“Yes, sir.” He cradled the phone.

McClintock said, “You should- n’t have rung off, General. I’d like to know whether the Chief wants this business continued.”

"Suppose we talk about it on

the way back to my office.” The General urged him away, turned and gave Reynolds a solemn wink.

Trays were placed outside the doors at six o’clock; most of them sent for coffee during the evening. Mrs. Wilkins ordered tea; she kept her door open and chatted with anyone who passed. Harry the newsboy was searching Mil- waukee; no answer had been ‘re- ceived from his tip about Chicago. Mrs. Ekstein, or “Princess Ca- thay” as she was billed, had re- ported a “feeling” about a house trailer in Denver and was now poring over a map of New Or- leans. Witli the passing of the deadline panic abated; communi- cations were improving. The American people were telling each other that they had known that those damned commies were bluff- ing.

Hammond and Reynolds sent for more coffee at three a.m.; Reynolds’ hand trembled as he poured. Hammond said, “You haven’t sle[)t for two nights. Get over on that divan.”

“Neither have you.”

“I’ll sleep when you wake up.”

“I cant sleep. I’m worrying about what’ll happen when they get sleepy.” He gestured at the line of doors,

"So am I.”

At seven a.m. Two-Gun came out. “ Prof, they got it. The bomb. It’s gone. Like closing your hand on nothing.”

PROJECT NIGHTMARE

35

Hammond grabbed the phone. “Get me Seattle — the F.B.I. office.”

While they waited, Two-Gun said, “What now, Prof?"

Reynolds tried to think. “ May- be you should rest.”

“Not until this is over. Who’s got Toledo? 1 know that burg.”

“Uh . . . young Barnes.”

Hammond was connected; he identified himself, asked the ques- tion. He put the phone down gently. “They did get it,” he whispered. “It was in the lake.”

“I told you it was wet,” agreed Two-Gun. “Now, about Toledo — ”

“Well . . . tell me when you’ve got it and we’ll let Barnes rest.”

McClintock rushed in at seven thirty-five, followed by Hanby. “Doctor Reynolds! Colonel Ham- mond!”

" Sh! Quiet! You’ll disturb them.”

McClintock said in a lower voice. “Yes, surely — I was ex- cited. This is important. They located a bomb in Seattle and —

“Yes. Private Andrews told us.”

“Huh? How did ke know?”

“Never mind,” Hanby inter- vened. "The point is, they found the bomb already triggered. Now we know that your people are protecting the cities.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“Well . . . yes."

“But there isn’t now," McClin-

tock added. "I must take over." He bent over the board. “Com- munications? Put that White House line through here.”

“Just what,” Reynolds said slowly, “do you mean by 'take over’?”

“Eh? Why, take charge on be- half of the President. Make sure these people don’t let down an instant!”

“But what do you propose to do?"

Hanby said hastily, “Nothing, Doctor. We'll just keep in touch with Washington from here.”

They continued the vigil to- gether; Reynolds spent the time hating McClintock’s guts. He started to take coffee, then de- cided on another benzedrine tablet instead. He hoped his people were taking enough of it — and not too much. They all had it, except Grandma Wilkins, who wouldn’t touch it. He wanted to check with them but knew that he could not — each bomb was bound only by a thread of thought; a split-split second of diversion might be enough.

The outside light flashed; Han- by took the call. "Congress has recessed,” he announced, “and the President is handing the So- viet Union a counter ultimatum ; locate and disarm any bombs or be bombed in return.” The light flashed again; Hanby answered. His face lit up. “Two more

36

AM.VZING STORIES

I'ouad,” he told them. “One in Chicago, right where your man said; the other in Camden.”

“Camden? How?”

“They rounded up the known Communists, of course. This lad- die was brought back there for questioning, He didn’t like that; he knew that he was being held less than a mile from the bomb. Who is on Camden?”

“ Mr. Uimwiddy.”

“The elderly man with the bunions? ”

“That’s right — retired post- man. General, do we assume that there is only one bomb per city? ”

McCIintock answered, “Of course not! These people must — ”

Hanby cut in, “Central Intelli- gence is assuming so, except for New York and Washington. If they had more bombs here, they would have added more cities."

Reynolds left to take Diin- widdy off watch. McCIintock, he fumed, did not realize that people were flesh and blood.

Diniwiddy was unsurprised. “A while ago the pressure let up, then well, I’m afraid I dozed. I had a terrible feeling that I had let it go off, then I knew it hadn't." Reynolds told him to rest, then be ready to help out elsewhere. They settled on Philadelphia; Dimwiddy had once lived there.

The watch continued. Mrs. Ekstein came up with three hits, but no answers came back; Reyn- olds still had to keep those cities

covered. She then complained that her “sight” had gone; Reyn- olds went to her room and told her to nap, not wishing to consult McCIintock.

Luncheon trays came and went. Reynolds continued worrying over how to arrange his operators to let them rest. Forty-three people and thirty-five cities — If only he had two for every city! Maybe any of them could watch any city? No, he could not chance it.

Barnes woke up and took back Toledo; that left Two-Gun free. Should he let him take Cleveland? Norman had had no relief and Two-Gun had once been through it, on a train. The colored boy was amazing but rather hyster- ical, whereas Two-Gun — well, Reynolds felt that Two-Gun would last, even through a week of no sleep.

No! He couldn’t trust Cleve- land to a man who had merely passed through it. But with Uim- widdy on Philadelphia, when Mary Gifford woke he could put her on Houston and that would let Hank sleep before shifting him to Indianapolis and that would let him — ’

A chess game, with all pawns queens and no mistakes allowed.

IVIi'Clintock was twiddling the selector switch, listening in. Sud- denly he snapped, “Someone is asleep!"

Reynolds checked ^he number.

37

PROJECT NIOHTM.\RE

“Of course, lliat's the twins’ room; they lake turns. \’ou may hear snores in 21 and 30 and 8 and 19. It’s okay; they're off watch.”

“Well, all right.” McCHiUock seemed annoywl.

Reynolds l)eiit back to his list. Shortly McCliiitock snorted, “Who's in room 12?”

“Uh? Wait — that’s Norman Johnson, Cleveland.”

“ You mean he's on watch?"

“Yes.” Reynolds could hear the boy’s asthmatic breathing, felt relieved.

” He's asleep!”

“No. he's not.”

But McClintock was rushing down the corridor. Reynolds took after him; Hammond and Hanby followed. Reynolds caught up as McClintock burst into room 12. Norman was sjjrawled in a chair, eyes closed in his habitual at* titude. McC'lintock rushed up, slapped him. “Wake up!”

Reynolds grabbed McClintock. “You bloody fool!”

Norman opened his eyes, then burst into tears. “It’s gone!"

“Steady, Norman. It’s all right.”

‘.‘No, no! It’s gone — and my mammy’s gone with it!”

McC'lintock snapped, “Concen- trate, boy! Get back on it!”

Reynolds turned on him. “Gel out. (jet out before I punch you.”

Hanby and Hammond were in the door; the General cut in with

38

a hoarse whisper. “Pipe down Doctor, bring the boy.”

Back at the board the outside light was flashing. Hanby took the call while Reynolds tried to quiet the boy. Hanby listened gravely, then said, “He’s rigln. Cleveland just got it.”

McClintock snapped, “He went to sleep. He ought to be shot.”

“Shut up,” said Hanby.

“ But — ”

Reynolds said, “Any others. General? ”

“Why would there he?”

“All this racket. It may have disturbed a dozen of them.”

“Oh, we’ll see.” He called Washington again. Presently he sighed. “No, just Clevelan<l. We were . . . lucky.”

“General,” McClintock in- sisted, “he was asleep.”

Hanby looked at him. “Sir, you may be the President’s deputy, but you yourself have no military authority. Off my post.”

“But I am directed by the President to ”

“Off my i)osl, sir! Go back to Washington. Or to Cleveland."

McClintock looked dumb- founded. Hanby added, “You’re worse than ba<l — you’re a fool.”

“The President will hear of this.”

“Blunder again and the Presi- dent won't live that long. Get out.”

By nightfall the situation was rapidly getting worse. Twenty- seven cities were still threatened

AMAZING STORIICS

and Reynolds was losing operators faster than bombs were being found. Even - Money Karscli would nor relieve when awak- ened. “See lliat?" he said, rolling dice. “ Cold as a well-digger’s feet. I’m through.” After that Reyn- olds tested eaclt one who was about to relieve, found that some were tired beyond tlie power of short sleep to restore them — they were “cold”.

By midnight there were eight- een operators for nineteen cities. The twins he h^id fearfully split up; it had worked. Mrs. Wilkins was holding both Washington and Baltimore; she had taken Balti- more when he had no one to re- lieve there.

But now he had no one for re- lief anywhere and three operators — Nelson, Tavo-Guii and Grand- ma Wilkins — had had no rest. He was too fagged to worry; he simply knew that whenever one of them reached his limit, the United States would lose a city. The panic had resumed after the bombing of Cleveland ; roads again were choked, d'he disorder made harder the search for bombs. But there was nothing he could do.

Mrs. Ekstein still complained about her sight but kept at it. Harry the newsboy had had no luck with Milwaukee, but there was no use shifting him ; other cit- ies were “dark” to him. During the night Mrs. Ekstein pointed to the bomb in Houston. It was, she

said, in a box underground. A coffin? Yes, there was a headstone; she was unable to read the name.

Thus, many recent dead in Houston were disturbed. But it was nine Sunday morning before Reynolds went to tell Mary Gif- ford that she could rest — or re- lieve for Wilmington, if she felt up to it. He found her collapsed and lifted her onto the bed, won- dering if she had known the Houston bomb was found.

Eleven cities now and eight people. Grandma Wilkins held four cities. No one else had been able to double up. Reynolds thought dully that it was a mira- cle that they had been able to last at all : it surpassed enormously the best test performance.

Hammond looked up as he re- turned. “Make any changes?”

“No. The Gifford kid is through. We’ll lose hiilf a dozen cities before this is over.”

“Some of them must be damn near empty by now.”

“I hope so. Any more bombs found?”

“Not yet. How do you feel, Doc? ”

“Three weeks dead.” Reynolds sat down wearily. He was wonder- ing if he should wake some of those sleeping and lest them again when he heard a noise below; he went to the stairwell.

Up came an M.P. captain. “They said to bring her here.”

{Continued on page 161)

PROJECT NIGHTMARE

39

IF THERE was oiie thing Dr. Kal- mar hated, and there were many, it was having a new assist- ant fresh from a medical school on Earth. They always wanted to change things. They never realized that a planet develops its own techniques to meet its own re- quirements, which are seldom sim- ilar to those of any other world. Dr. Kalmar never got along with his assistants and he didn’t expect to get along with this young Dr. Hoyt who was coming la on the transfer ship from Vega.

Dr. Kalmar had been trained on Earth himself, of course, but he wistfully remembered how he had revered Dr. Lowell when he had been Lowell’s assistant. He’d known that his own green learning was no match for Dr. Lowell’s wisdom and experience after 30 years on Deneb, and he had avidly ac- cepted his lessons.

Why, he grumbled to himself on his way to the spaceport to meet the unknown whippersnapper, why didn’t Larth turn out young doc- tors the way it used to? They ought to have the arrogance knocked out of them before they left medical school. That’s what must have happened to him, be- cause his attitude had certainly been humble when he landed.

The spaceport was jammed, naturally. Ship arrivals were in- frequent enough to bring every- body from all over the planet who

40

“ Wanla kno'itj what’s wrong with women these days? Spoiled! The whole kit and kaboodle of ’em. They want to sing in nightclubs and hook up with sorne millionaire and wear beautiful clothes. Housework is something for gadgets to take care of, with maids to run the gadgets. Afraid to get a few calluses on their dainty hands!

*’ We got a way to handle that on Deneb. A girl gets highfalutin up there, the Doc puts her in the Ego Alter room. Thicken up her ankles a little, take some of the sparkle out of her eyes and hair, and you get a woman fit to pull a plow! ”

Hold it, Madam! H. L. Gold said that; not us. Personally, we like girls — not Percherons!

No

Charge

For

Alterations

Illustrator: II. Sbarp

41

By H. L. GOLD

was not on duty at the farms, mines, factories, freight and pas- senger jets and all the rest of the busy activities of this compara- tively new colony. They brought their lunches and families and stood around to watch. Dr. Kal- mar went to the platform.

The ship sat down on a mush- room of fire that swiftly became a flaming pancake and then was squashed out of existence.

“ I’m waiting for a shipment of livestock,’* enthused the man standing next to Dr. Kalmar.

“You're lucky/’ the doctor said. “They can’t talk back.”

The man looked at him sympa- thetically. “Meeting a female?”

“Gabbier and more annoying,” said Dr. Kalmar, but he didn’t elaborate and the man, with the courtesy of the frontier, did not pry for an explanation.

Livestock and freight came down on one elevator and passen- gers came down another. Slide- walks carried the cargo to Sterili- zation and travelers to the greet- ing platform. Dr. Kalmar felt his shoulders droop. The man with the medical bag had to be Dr. Ho) t and he was even more brisk, erect and muscular than Dr. Kal- mar had expected, with a superior and inquisitive look that made the last assistant, unbearable as he’d been, seem as tractable as one of the arriving cows.

Dr. Hoyt spotted him instantly and came striding over to grab

42

his haitd in a grip like an orc- criisher. "You’re Dr. Kalmar. Glad to know you. I'm sure we'll get along fine together. Miserable trip. Had to change ships four times to get here. Hope the food’s better than shipboard slop. Got a nice hospital to work in? Do I live in or out?”

Dr. Kalmar was grudgingly forced to say rapidly, “ Right. I.ikewise. I hope so. Too bad. Suits us. I think so. In.”

He got Dr. Hoyt into a jetcab and told the driv^er to make time back to the hospital. Aj'jpoinl- ments were piling up while he ha<l to make the courtesy trip out to the spaceport, which was another nuisance. Now he'd have all of those and a talkative assistant who'd want lo know the reasons for everything.

” Pretty barren,” said Dr. Hoyt, looking out the window at the vege- tationless ground 'below. “Why’s that?”

He’d known lie was going lo Deneb, Dr. Kalmar thought an- grily. The least he coukl have done was read up on the place. lie had.

“It’s an Earth-type planet,” Dr. Kalmar said in a blunt voice, “except that life never developed on it. We had to bring everything — benign germ cultures, seed, animals, fish, insects — -a whole ecology. Our farms arc close to the cities. Too wasteful of freight to move them out very far. Another

AMAZING STOKIICS

few' ceaturics and we’ll liave a real population, millions of people in- stead of the 20,000 we have now in a couple of dozen settlements around this w'orld. Then we'll have the whole place a nice shade of green.”

‘‘(.'ity boy myself,” said Dr. Hoyt. ” Hate the country. Hydro- [KJiiics and synthetic meat — that’s the answ'er.”

“For Earth. It’ll be a long time before we get that crowded here on Deiieb.”

“Deneb,” the young doctor re- peated, dissatisfied. ‘‘That’s the name of the star. You mean to tell me the planet has the same name?”

“Most solar systems have only one Earth-type planet. It saves a lot of trouble to just call that planet Deneb, Vega or whatever.”

‘‘Is that clutch of shacks the city?” exclaimed Dr. Hoyt.

‘‘Denebia,” said Dr. Kalmar, beginning to enjoy himself finally.

‘‘Why, you could lose it in a suburb or Bosyorkdelphia! ”

“That monstrosity that used to be New York, Pennsylvania, Con- necticut, Rhode Island and Mas- sachusetts? I wouldn’t want to.”

He was pleased when Dr. Hoyt sank into stunned silence. If luck was with him, that stupefaction might last the whole day. It seemed as though it might, for the bight of the modest little hospital was too much for the youngster who had just come from the mam-

moth health factories of Earth.

Dr. Hoyt revived somewhat when he saw the patients waiting in the scantily furnislied outer room, but Dr. Kalmar said, ‘‘Bet- ter get yourself settled,” and opened a door for his immature colleague.

“But there’s only one bed in this room,” Dr. Hoyt objected. “You must have iiuide a mistake.”

Dr. Kalmar, recalling the crowded cubicles of Earth, gave out a proud little dry laugh. “ You're on Deneb now, boy. Here you’ll have to get used to spaciousness. VVe like el- bow room.”

The young doctor went in hesi- tantly, leaving the door open for a fast escape In case an error had been made. Dr. Kalmar had done the same when he'd arrived nine years ago. Judging by his own ex- perience, it would take Dr. Hoyt a full six months to get used to hav- ing a room all to himself. There would be plenty of time to start showing him the ropes tomorrow, and in the meantime there were the backed-up appointments to be taken care of.

Dr. Kalmar went to his office and had his nurse, Miss Dupont, send in the first patient.

It was a girl of 17, Avis Emery, who had been brought by her par- ents. She sat sullenly, dark-haired, too daintily pretty and delicately shapely for a frontier world like this, while Mr. Emery put the file from Social Control on the doctor’s desk.

NO CH.\ROE FOR ALTERATIONS

43

“We're farmers — the man began.

Dr. Kalmar interrupted, “The information is in the summary. Avis is to be assigned her mate next year, but she wants to go to Earth and become a nightclub singer. She refuses to marry a boy who’d be able to help around the farm, and she won’t work on it herself.”

He looked up severely at the parents. “This is your own fault, you know. You pampered her. Farm labor is too valuable for pampering. We can’t afford it.”

“You can blame me, Doc,” said Mr. Emery miserably. “She’s such a pretty little thing — I couldn’t work her the way Sue and I work ourselves.”

“And then she started getting notions,” Mrs. Emery added, giv- ing her husband a vicious glare. Dr. Kalmar could imagine the nights of argument and accusation before they were at last forced to go for medical help to solve their self-created problem. “Singing in nightclubs back on Earth, marry- ing a billionaire, living in a sky yacht!”

“Avis,” said Dr. Kalmar gently. “You know it’s not that easy, don’t you? There are lots and lots of pretty girls on Earth and very few billionaires. If you did get a job singing in a nightclub, you know you’d have to do some un- pleasant things because there’s so much competition for customers.

Things like stripteasing, drinking at the tables and going out with whoever the owner tells you to.”

The girl’s face grew animated for the first time. “Well, sure! Why do you think I want to go? ”

“And you don’t love Deneb and your farm? ”

“I hate both of them!”

“But you realize that we must have food. Doesn’t it make you feel important to grow more food so we can increase our popula- tion?”

“No! Why should 1 care? I want to go to Earth!”

Dr. Kalmar shook his head re- gretfully. He pushed a button on his desk. It was connected to a gravity generator directly under the girl’s chair. Four gravities sud- denly pushed her down into it and a hypodermic needle jabbed her swiftly with a hypnotic drug. She 8]ump)ed. He released the button and the artificial gravity abated, but she remained dazed and re- laxed.

“You’re not going to hurt her, are you, Doc?” Mr, Emery begged.

“Certainly not. But I suppose you know Social Control’s orders.”

'^ey nodded, the husband gloom- ily, the wife with a single sharp jerk of her head.

“You go right ahead and do it,” she said. “ I’m sick of working my fingers to the bone while she primps and preens and talks all the time about going to Earth.”

44

AMAZING STORIES

“Come, Avis,” Dr. Kalmar said in a low, commanding voice.

She stood up, blank-faced, and followed him out to the Ego Alter room. He closed the door, sat her down in the insulated seat next to the control console, put the wired plastic helmet on her and adjusted it to fit her skull snugly.

Running his finger down the treatment sheet of her Social Con- trol file, he set the dials according to its instructions. The psychic areas to be reduced were sex drive, competitiveness and imagi- nation, while the areas of repro- ductive urge and cooperation were to be intensified. He regulated the individual timers and sent the varying charge through her brain.

There was no reaction, no con- vulsion, no distortion of features. She sat there as if nothing had happened, but her personality had changed as completely as though she had been retrained from birth.

Miss Dupont came in without knocking. She knew, of course, that any patient in the Ego Alter room would be incapable of being disturbed.

“Rephysical, Dr. Kalmar?’’ she asked.

“I’m afraid so. Will you pre- pare her, please? ”

The nurse removed the girl’s clothes. There was no resistance.

“.Such a lovely body,’’ she said. “ It’s a shame.’’

He shrugged. “Until we have enough people and farms and in-

dustries, Miss Dupont, we’ll just have to get used to altering people to fit the needs of our society. I’m sure you understand that."

“Yes, but it still seems a shame. Bodies like that don’t grow on trees.”

He gently moved the girl into the Rephysical Chamber. “They grow in this machine, though. As soon as we can alTord it, which ought to be only a few hundred years from now, we can make any woman look like this, or even better.”

“And don’t forget the men,” Miss Dupont said as he started the mitogenetic generator. “We could use some Adonises around here.”

“We’ll have them,” he assured her.

“Somebody will. None of us’ll live that long.”

Working like a sculptor with a cathode in one hand and an anode in the other, Dr. Kalmar began reshaping the^girl who stood fix- edly ill the boxlike chamber. The flesh fled from the cathode and chased after the anode as he broadened the fine nose, thick- ened the mobile lips, squared the slender jaw and drew out care- fully the delicately arched orbital ridges.

“ I’ll leave the curl in her hair,” he said. “ Rveu-y woman needs at least one feature she can be proud of.”

NO CHARGE FOK ALTERATIONS

45

“You’re telling me,” Miss Du- pont replied.

“Synthetic tissue, please.”

She drew out a tube with a variable nozzle and started work- ing just ahead of him. A spray of high-velocity cells shot through the girl’s smooth skin at the neck, shoulders, breasts, hips and legs, forming shapeless lumps that he guided into cords and muscles. The slim figure quickly broad- ened, grew brawny and compe- tent-looking, the bc^y of a woman who could breed phenomenally while farming alongside her man.

Dr. Kalmar racked up the in- struments and helped Miss Du- pont dress the girl in coveralls and sandals. He felt the pride of crafts- manship when he found that the clothing supplied for her by Social Control exactly fitted her. He in- jected an antidote to the hypnotic and gave her the standard test for emotional response as her expres- sionless face cleared to placidity.

“Do you know where you are, Avis?”

“Yes. Ego Alter and Rephysi- cal.”

“What have wc done to you?”

“ Changed me to fit my environ- ment.”

“Do you resent being changed?”

“No.” She paused and looked worried. “Who’s taking care of the crops while I’m here?”

“They can wait till you and your parents get back, Avis. Let’s show them the change, shall we?”

“All right,” she said. “I think they’ll be proud of me. This Is how they always wanted me to be.”

“And you? ”

“Oh, I feel much better. As if I don’t have to try so hard.”

“I’m glad, Avis. Miss Dupont, better have a sedative ready when her father sees her. I think he’ll need it.”

“And her mother?” asked the nurse practically.

“She’ll probably want a drink to celebrate. Give her one.”

Dr. Kalmar’s prognosis was correct, only it didn’t go far enough. His young assistant from Earth had come scooting out of his disquietingly large quarters and was jittering in the office when they entered.

“ Is that the pretty girl who was waiting when we came in?” he yelped in outrage. “What have you done to her?”

Dr. Kalmar gave the sedative to him instead of Mr. Emery, who was shocked, but had known in advance what to expect. Miss Du- pont prepared another sedative quickly, gave Mrs. Emery a cele- bration drink and moved the fam- ily toward the door.

“She looks fine, Doctor,” the mother said happily. “Avis ought to be a big help around the house and farm from now on.”

“I’m sure she will,” he said.

“But she was so lovely!” wept Mr. Emery, though in a rapidly

46

AMAZING STORIES

l)ecalming voice as the sedative took effect.

'I'he door closed behind them.

“You ought to l)e reported to the Medical Association back on I*)arth!“ Dr. Hoyt said angrily. “ Ruining a girl’s looks like that!”

Dr. Kalmar sighed. He had hoped to be able to put off this orientation lecture until the fol- lowing day, when there wouldn’t be so many patients jamming his api^ointment book.

"All right, let’s get it over with. First. I was also trained on Earth and know how Ego Alter and Re- Ijhysical are used tliere: Ego Al- ter to remove psychic blocks so people can compete belter, and Kephysical so they’ll be more at- tractive. Second, we’re not under the jurisdiction of Earth’s Medi- cal Association. Third, we’d damn well better not be, because our problems and solutions aren’t the same at all.’’

"You’d have been jailed for s()oiling that girl’s chances of a good marriage!”

"I didn’t,” Dr. Kalmar said quietly. "I improved them.”

"You did nothing of the — ” Dr. Hoyt stopped. "Improved? How? ”

"I keep telling you this is a frontier world and you keep act- ing as if you understand, but you don’t. Look, a family is an eco- nomic liability on Earth; it con- sumes without producing. That’s why girls have so much trouble

finding husbands there. Out here it’s ditferent. A family ts an asset — if every member in It is willing to work,”

"But a pretty girl like that can always get by.”

“No Denebian can afford to marry a pretty girl. It’s too risky. She can’t work as hard as we do and still take care of her looks. And he’d worry about her con- stantly, which would cut into his efficiency. By having me make her a merely attractive girl In a whole- some, hearty way, Social Control guarantees more than just a mar- riage for her — it guarantees a contented married life.”

"Sweating away on a farm," Dr. Hoyt said.

"Now that her anti-social striv- ings are gone, she’ll realize that Deneb needs fanners instciid of nightclub singers. She’ll take pride in being a good worker, she’ll raise as many children as she’ll be capable of bearing, and she’ll have a good husband and a pros- perous farm. That wouldn't have satisfied her before. It will now. And she's better for it and so is Deneb.”

Dr. Hoyt shook his head. "It’s all upside down.”

"You’ll get used to it. Why not take today off and explore Dcne- bia? You need a rest after all those months in space,”

" Maybe I will," said Dr. Hoyt vaguely, slightly anesthetized.

"Good.” Dr. Kalmar buzzed

NO CHARGE FOR ALTF.R.tTIONS

47

for Miss Dupont. “Send in the next patient, please. Oh, and Dr. Hoyt is taking the day off.”

But the young assistant was stunned into staying by the huge size of the Social Control file that was carried by the next patient, Mr. Fallon, and his wife.

“ I know just what you’re think- ing, Dr. Kcthnar!” cried Mrs. Fallon distractedly, but with a nervously bright smile. “Those awful Fallons again ! I don’t blame you a bit, but — ”

As a matter of fact, that was exactly what Dr. Kalmar was thinking, plus the defeated feeling that they were all he needed to make the day complete.

“ Good Lord, what’s in all those files?” Dr. Hoyt exclaimed.

Dr. Kalmar could have ex- plained, but he didn’t feel up to it.

Mr. Fallon, a wispy, shyly af- fable, poetic-looking chap, did it for him. “Papers,” he said.

“1 know that, but why so many?” Dr. Hoyt asked impa- tiently.

Miss Dupont seemed wryly amused as she watched his con- sternation.

“I guess you might say it’s be- cause 1 can't make my mind up,” confessed Mrs. P'allon with an uneasy giggle. She was a big woman who might have gurgled over a collection of toy dogs on Earth, but here she was a freight checker and her husband was a

statistician in the Department; of Supply, though on Earth he might have been anything from a com- poser to a social worker. “No matter how often we rephysical Harry, I always get tired of his looks in a few months.”

“And how often has that been done?” Dr. Hoyt demanded.

“I think it’s eleven times. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“No, sweet,” said Mr. Fallon. “Thirteen.”

Dr. Kalmar could have inter- rupted, but he considered it wiser to let his assistant learn the hard way. Miss Dupont was enjoying it too much to interfere.

“We’ve made him tall and we've made him short, skinny, fat, bulging with muscle, red hair, black hair, blond hair, gray hair — I don’t know, just about every- thing in the book,” said Mrs. Fallon, ‘‘and I simply can't seem to find one I’d like for keeps.”

“Then why the devil don’t you get another husband?”

Mrs. Fallon looked .shocked. “Why, he was assigned to me!”

“Dr. Hoyt just came from Earth,” Dr. Kalmar cut in at last, before a brawl could start. “He’s not familiar with our methods.”

“Let’s hear the cockeyed rea- son,” Ur. Hoyt said resignedly.

“We keep our population bal- anced,” said Dr. Kalmar. “Too many of either sex creates tension, hostility, lOvSS of efficiency; look at Earth if you want proof. We can't

AMAZINO STORIKS

risk even a little of that, so we use prenatal sex control to keep them exactly equal.”

“There’s a wife for every man,” Mr. Fallon put in genially, “and a husbaml for every woman. Works out fine."

“With no surplus,” Dr. Kalmar added. “There are no floaters to allow the kind of marital moving day you have on Earth, where so many just up and shift over to new mates. We get ours for life. That’s where Ego Alter and Re- physical come in.”

“You mean people bring in their mates to have them clone over?”

"If they’re not satisfied and if the mates agree lo be changed.”

“I don’t mind,” .said Mr. Fal- lon virtuously. “I figure Mabel will decide what she wants one of these changes, and then we can settle down and be happy with each other.”

“But what about you?” asked Dr. Hoyt, bewildered. “Don't you want her changed?”

“Oh, no. I like her fine just as she is.”

“You see now how it works?" Dr. Kalmar asked. “We can’t hav'C a variety of mates, but we can have all the variety we want in one mate. It comes to the same thing, as far as I can see, and causes much less confusion, espe- cially since we nc^cd stable rela- tionships.”

Dr. Hoyt was striving heroic-

ally to stay indignant in spite of the sedative. “And do many ask to have their mates changed?”

“ I guess we’re a sort of record, aren’t we?” Mr. Fallon boasted.

“I guess you are,” agreed Dr. Kalmar. “And now, Dr. Hoyt, if there aren’t any more questions, I’d like to proceed with this couple.”

Dr. Hoyt stretched his eyes wide to keep them open. “It’% all screwy to me, but it’s none of iny business. As soon as I finish my internship, I’m heading back to Earth, where things make sense, so I don't have to understand tliis mishmash you call a planet. Need help?”

“If you’d find out what Mrs. Fallon has in mind this time, it would let me run the patients through a lot faster.”

“How would they feel about it?” Dr. Hoyt asked.

“It’s all right with me.” Mr. Fallon said amiably. “I'm pretty used to this, you know."

“But wltat are we going to make you look like, Harry?” his wife fretted. “I felt very jealous of other women when you were handsome and I didn’t like you just ordinary-looking.”

“Why not go through the model book with Dr. Hoyt?” sug- gested Dr. Kalmar. “There are still some types you haven’t tried.”

“There are?” she asked in gratified astonishment. “Would

NO CH-VRGE FOR .\I.TERATIONS

49

>ou niiiid very much, Dr. Iloyt?”

“Glad to.” he said.

Miss Dupont broujjht out the model book for him, and he and Mrs. Fallon studied the facial and physical types that were very ex- plicitly illustrated there in three- dimensional full color. Mr. Fal- lon, contentedly working out math problems on a sheet of paper, left the choice entirely to her.

Meanwhile. Dr. Kalmar and Miss Dupont swiftly took care of a succession of other patients, raising the tolerance level of frus- tration in a watchmaker, replat- ing the acne-pitted skin of a sensi- tive youth, restoring a finger lost in a machine-shop accident, and building up good-natured aggres- sion in an ore miner whose pro- ductivity had slumped.

Mrs. Fallon still hadn’t decided when the last patient had been taken care of. IShe said unhappily, “I don’t know. I simply abso- lutely don’t know. Couldn’t you suggest something, Dr. Hoyt?”

“Wouldn’t be ethical,” he told her bluntly. “Not allowed to.”

Dr. Kalmar, checking the So- cial Control papers with Miss Dupont, wondered if he should interfere. It would lower con- fidence in Dr. Hoyt, which meant that people would insist on Dr. Kalmar's treating them. Then, instead of having an assistant to remove some of the load, he’d have to do the work of two men.

He decided to let the young doc- tor handle it.

But Dr. Hoyt stood up in exas- peration, slammed the book shut, and said, “Mrs. Fallon, if you know what you want, I’ll be glad to oblige. But I’m not a tele- pathy — ”

“Is there anything I can do?” Dr. Kalmar interrupted quickly, before his assistant could create any more damage.

“ He doesn't have to get huffy,” Mrs. Fallon said indignantly. “All I asked for was a suggestion or two.”

“Insult my wife, will he?” Mr. Fallon belligerently added.

“It’s my fault,” Dr. Kalmar said. “Dr. Hoyt just got in today from Earth and he’s tired and he naturally doesn’t understand all our ways yet — ”

“ Fe/?” Dr. Hoyt repeated In disgust. “What makes you think I’ll ever — ”

“And I shouldn’t have bur- dened him with this problem until he’s had a chance to rest up and look around,” Dr. Kalmar con- tinued In a slightly louder voice. “Now, let’s see if we can’t settle this problem before closing time, eh ? ’ '

The Fallons subsided, Dr. Hoyt watched with a sarcastic eye, though he kept silent as Dr. Kal- mar and Miss Dupont, working as a shrewd team, gave them the suggestion they had been looking

50

AMAZING STORIRS

}

NO CHARGE FOR ALTERATIONS

51

for. It was all done very smoothly, so smoothly that Dr. Kalmar felt professional pride because even his stiff-neck^ assistant was un- able to detect the fact that it was a suggestion.

Dr. Kalmar got Mrs. Fallon to reminisce about the alterations her husband had undergone, and Miss Dupont promptly agreed with her when she explained why each had been unsatisfactory. It took some time, but he eventually brought her back to what Mr. Fallon had looked like when she’d first married him.

“Now, isn’t that the strangest thing?” she said, puzzled. “I can’t remember. Can you, dear?”

“It’s a little mixed up,” Mr. Fallon admitted. “Let’s see, I know I was taller and I think I had a long, thin face — ”

“Oh, we don’t have to guess,” Dr. Kalmar said. “Nurse, we have the information on file, don’t we?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said, and instantly produced a photograph. They evidently thought it was merely filing efficiency; they hadn’t noticed her searching for the picture quietly while Dr. Kalmar had been leading them on. He had, in fact, delayed asking her until she’d nodded to indicate that she had found it.

Mr. Fallon frowned as if he’d recognized the face but couldn't remember the name. His wife gave a little shriek of admiration.

“Why, Harry, you looked per- fectly wonderful!”

"Those deep dimples made shaving pretty hard,” he recalled.

“But they’re darlingl Why did you ever let me change you?”

“Because I wanted you to be happy, sweet.”

It was as simple as that — a bit of practical psychology based on knowledge of the patients. Dr. Kalmar wished wistfully that old Dr. Lowell had been there to ob- serve. He would have approved, which might have made up for Dr. Hoyt’s unpleasant expression.

“I hope this is the one you want,” Dr. Kalmar said as he took them to the front door after the rephysical.

“Goodness, I hope so!" Mrs. Fallon exclaimed. She looked fondly at her husband, and this time had to look up to see liis face. "I’m almost positive this is what I want Harry to be.”

“Well, if it isn’t, sweet,” Mr. Fallon said, “we’ll try something else. I don't mind as long as it makes you happy.”

They closed the door beliiiid them, leaving the hospital empty of all but the small staff.

“They’re crazy!” Dr. Hoyt exploded. “He’s not the one we should be changing. That idiotic female needs a good Ego Alter!”

“He hasn’t asked for it,” Dr. Kalmar pointed out patiently.

“Then he ought to!”

“That’s his decision, isn't it?

I

52

AMAZING STORIES

There’s such a thing as ethics, you know.”

‘‘I’ve never seen anything more insane than the way you work,” snapped Dr. Hoyt. ‘‘I can’t wait to finish my stretch here and go home.”

He stamped out, weaving slightly Ijecause of the sedative.

“Well, what do you think of our assistant ? ” asked Dr. Kalmar.

‘‘He's cute,” Miss Dupont said irrationally.

Dr. Kalmar glowered at her. He'd forgotten that she was due to have a mate assigned to her this year.

Routine at the hospital was anything but routine. Dr. Hoyt barely kept from yelping each time someone was treated, and lus help was given so unwillingly that Dr. Kalmar, sweating under a double load and with Dr. Hoyt to argue with at the same time, was ail for putting him on the ship and asking Earth for another intern. But Miss Dupont talked him out of it.

For no discernible reason other than loneline.ss, Dr. Hoyt was taking her out. She was pleased, even though he crabbed con- stantly alxjut the shabby-looking clothes she wore, which were typical of Deneb, and the way they fitted her.

Either tlie two of them didn’t talk shop, or she had no influence with him — his criticism and im-

patience grew sharper each week.

It bothered Dr. Kalmar more than he tliought it should, and much more than Mrs. Kalmar wanted it to. She was a pleasant little woiTUtn who liked things as they were, which was why Dr. Kalmar had hesitated all this while toask her to undergo a slight rephysical ; he would have pre- ferred her a little taller, more filled out, her slight wrinkles deleted and, while he was think- ing about it, he wished she’d let him give her space-black hair in- stead of her indeterminately blondisli mop. But lie'd rather have her as she was than peevish, so he had never mentioned it.

‘‘Don’t let the boy upset you, she said, “ft’s only that he’s so young and inexperienced. You can’t expect him to adjust quickly to a new environment and a whole new medical orientation.”

“But that’s just what annoys me ! Why, 1 used to hang onto every word of Dr. Lowell’s when I came here! I never thought I knew l>cttc‘r tlian he did.”

“Well, dear, you're you and Dr. Lowell is Dr. Lowell and Dr. Hoyt is Dr. Hoyt.”

He tried to think of an answer and couldn’t. “I suppose so.”

“Maybe you’d feel better if you spoke to Dr. Lowell about it.”

“What could he do? This is really an internal problem that I should work out with Dr. Hoyt, I can’t involve Dr. Lowell in it.”

NO CIIAROK rOR ALTERATIONS

53

But it became intolerable when there was a young girl who wanted to be a boy and Dr. Kal- mar and Dr. Hoyt got into the worst battle yet. Naturally, she had to be given an Ego Alter to make her happy about being a girl, whereas Dr. Hoyt argued that she should be allowed to be a boy if that was what she wanted. Dr. Kalmar explained angrily once more than the sexes were exactly balanced and Dr. Hoyt quoted the rule of personal choice. It was applicable on Earth, but not on Deneb, Dr. Kalmar retorted, to which Dr. Hoyt snorted something about playing God.

Dr. Kalmar confessed harshly to his wife that she was right. He had to bring old Dr. Lowell into the situation; it was out of Dr. Kalmar’s control and was keeping the hospital In a turmoil. It was time for Dr. Lowell to inspect the hospital, the job he had taken in place of actual retirement. Dr. Kalmar needed help from Miss Dupont to bring the problem out into the op)en. But she became unexpectedly obstinate.

“I won’t hurt Leo’s career,” she explained flatly.

Dr. Kalmar gave her a vacant look. “Leo?”

She blushed. “Dr. Hoyt. He’s honestly trying to understand, but he hnds it so different from Earth. Practically everything we do here is in reverse.”

‘‘But .so is our environment, Miss Dupont. Earth is over- crowded and Deneb is under- populated, so of course our meth- ods would be the opposite of Earth’s. He has to be made to see that we must solve our problems our own way.”

She studied his face suspi- ciously. “That’s all you want?”

“Certainly. Damn it, do you think I want him fired and sent back to Earth before his intern- ship’s up? I know it would hurt his record. Besides, I need an assistant — but not one I have to bicker with every time I make a move.”

“Well, in that case — ”

“Good girl. All you have to do is help me hold off the cases he’d argue about until Dr. Lowell gets here.” He stared down glumly at his hands, which were gripping each other tightly. “God knows I'm no diplomat. Dr. Lowell is. He convinced me easily enough when I came here. Maybe he can do the same with Dr. Hoyt.”

“Oh, I hope he can," Miss Dupont said earnestly. “I want so much to have you and Leo work together in harmony.”

He glanced up, curious. “Why?”

“Because I’m in love with him.”

He found himself nodding bit- terly. Having Dr. Hoyt go back to Earth wouldn’t be a fraction as bad as Miss Dupont leaving w’ith

.^4

AMAZING STORIES

him. So now there was something else to worry about.

Dr, Lowell came bouncing out of the jetcab a few days later. “Tiie hospital better be spot- less!” he called out jovially, pay- ing off the harkie. “ I’m in a mean mood. Liable to suspend every- body.”

There was a strange lift to Dr. Kalmar’s spirits as the old man entered the office. He wished without hope that he could inspire the same sort of reverence and respect. Impossible, of course. Dr. Lowell was great; he himself was iiolhiiig more than competent.

Dr. Kalmar introduced his young assistant to the old man.

‘‘Young and strong,” Dr. Low- ell approved. ‘‘That’s what we need on Deneb. Skill is important, but health and youth even more so.”

” For those who stay,” said Dr. Hoyt frostily. ‘‘I’m not.”

Dr, Kalmar felt himself quiver with rage. The wet-nosed pup couldn’t talk to Dr. Lowell like that!

But Dr. Lowell was saying cheerily, ‘‘You seem to have made up your mind to go back. No mat- ter. Some decisions are like egg- shells — made only to be broken. I hope that’s what you'll do with yours. ’ ’

‘‘Not a chance,” Dr. Hoyt said. He didn’t take the arrogant ex- pression off his face even when

NO CHARGE FOR ALTERATIONS

Miss Dupont looked at him pleadingly.

‘‘Then I say let’s signal the next ship — ” Dr. Kalmar began.

Dr. Lowell cut in quickly, ‘‘ You two have patients to attend to, I see. Don't worry about me. I know my way around this poor little wretch of a building. Not much like Earth hospitals, is it?” He headed for the medical supply room, adding just before he went in, ‘‘A lot can be said for small installations. The personal touch, you know.”

Dr. Kalmar enviously realized how deftly the old man had put the youngster in his place, whereas he would have stood there and slugged it out verbally. Lord, if he could only acquire that awesome wisdom!

“Well, back to work,” he said, trying to imitate the cheeriness at least.

‘‘Sure, let’s ruin some more lives,” Dr. Hoyt almost snarled.

‘‘I.eo, please!" whispered Miss Dupont imploringly.

Five minutes later the two doc- tors were furiously arguing over a very old man who had been sent by Social Control to have his eyesight strengthened.

“You have no right to let any- body dodder around like this!” Dr. Hoyt yelled. “What in hell is Rephysical for if not for such cases?”

“You probably think we ought to make him look like 25 again,”

55

Dr. Kalmar yelled back. “If that's all you’ve learned working here — ”

“Now, now,” said Dr. Lowell soothingly. He’d come in unno- ticed by either of the men. “Dr. Hoyt is right, of course. We would like to make old people young and some day we’ll be able to afford it. But not for some time to come.’’

“Why not?’’ Dr. Hoyt de- manderl in a lower tone, visibly flattered by Dr. Lowell’s seem- ingly taking his side.

“Rephysical can’t actually make anyone young. It can only give the outward appearance of youth and replace obviously dis- eased parts. But an old body is an old organism ; it has to break down eventually. If we give it more vigor than it can endure, it breaks down too soon, much sooner than if we let it age normally. That represents economic loss as well as a humanitarian one.’’

“ I don’t follow you,” Dr. Hoyt said bewilderedly.

“Well, our patient used to be a machinist. A good one. Now he’s only able to be an oiler. A good one, too, when you improve his eyesight. He can go on doing that for years, performing a useful function. But he’d wear himself out in no time as a machinist again if you de-aged him.”

“Is that supposed to make sense? ’’

“It does,” said Dr. Lowell, “for Deneb.”

Dr. Hoyt wanted to continue the discussion, but Dr. Lowell was already on his way to inspect another part of the hospital. Grumbling, the young man helped chart the optical nerves that had to be replaced and measure the new curve of the retinas ordered by Social Control.

But he fought just as strenu- ously over other cases, especially a retired freight-jet pilot who had to have his reflexes slowed down so he could become a contented meteorologist. Whenever there was a loud disagreement of this sort, Dr. Lowell .was there to mediate calmly.

At the end of the day, Dr. Kal- mar was emotionally exhausted. He said as he and Dr. Lowell were washing up, “The kid’s hopeless. I thought you could straighten him out — God knows I couldn't — but he’ll never see why we have to work the way we do.”

“What do you suggest?” Dr. Lowell asked through a towel.

“Send him back to Earth. Get an iiileni who’s more malleable.”

Dr. Lowell tossed the towel into the sterilizer. “Can’t be done. We’re expanding so fast all over the Galaxy that Earth can’t train and ship out enough doctors for the new colonies. If we sent him back, I don’t know when we'd get another.”

Dr. Kalmar swallowed. “You mean it’s him or nobody?”

56

AM.tZING STOKIICS

“Afraid so."

“But he’ll never fit in on Deneb! ”

“You did,” Dr. Lowell said.

Dr. Kalmar tried to smile mod- estly. “I realized immediately how little I knew and how much more experience you had. 1 was willing to learn. Why, I used to listen to you and watch you work and try to see your reasons for doing things — ”

“You think so?” asked Dr. Lowell.

Dr. Kalmar glanced at him in astonishment. “You know I did. I still do, for that matter.”

“When you landed on Deneb,” said Dr. Lowell, “you were the most stubborn, opinionated young ass I’d ever met.”

Dr. Kalmar’s smile became an appreciative grin. “Damn, I wish 1 had that light touch of yoiins!”

“You were so dogmatic and argumentative that Dr. lloyt is a suggestible schoolboy in compari- son.”

“Well, you don’t have to go that far,” Dr. Kalmar said. “I get what you’re driving at — every intern needs orientation and I should be more patient and un- derstanding.”

“Then you don’t follow me at all,” stated Dr. Lowell. “Invite Dr. Hoyt, Miss Dupont and me to your house for dinner tonight and maybe you’ll get a better idea of what I mean.”

XO CHARGE FOR ALTERATIONS

“Anything for a free meal, eh? ”

“And to keep a doctor here on Deneb that we’d lose otherwise.”

“Implying that I can’t do it.”

“Isn't that the decision you'd come to?”

“Yes, I guess it is,” Dr. Kalmar confessed. “All right, how about dinner at my house tonight? I’ll round up the other two and call Harriet so she’ll expect us.”

“Delighted to come,” said Dr. Lowell. “Nice of you to ask me.”

Miss Dupont was elated at the invitation and Dr. Hoyt said he had nothing else to do anyway. On the videophone Mrs. Kalmar was dismayed for a moment, until Dr. Lowell told her to put through an emergency order to Central Commissary and he’d verify it.

That was when Dr. Kalmar realized how serious the old man was. On a raw planet where crises were ev^eiyday routine, a situation had to be catastrophic before it could be called an emergency.

Dinner on Deneb was the same as anywhere else in the Galaxy. To free women for other work, food was delivered weekly in cooked form. A special messenger from Central Commissary had brought the emergency rations and Mrs. Kalmar had simply punctured the self-heat cartridges and put the servings in front of each guest; the containers were

57

disposable plates and came with single-use plastic utensils. No garbage, no preparation, no clean- ing up afterward, except to toss them ail into the converter fur- nace. Dr. Hoyt was still not accus- toned to wholly grown foods; he’d been raised on synthetics, of course, which were the staples on Earth.

“Well, that was good,” said Dr. Lowell, getting up from the table with his round little belly comfortably expanded. “Now, let’s have a few drinks before we start a professional bull session. Where do you keep your liquor? I’d like to mix my special so Dr. Hoyt can see we colonials are not so provincial.”

“Good Lord, I haven’t had your special for years! ” exclaimed Dr. Kalmar. “Since about the time I came to Deneb, in fact.”

“That’s why it’s a special. Re- served for state occasions, such as arrivals of colleagues from our dear old home planet.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go to all that bother,” said Dr. Hoyt. “You’d have to make it twice — once now and once when I leave.’’

“That won’t be for quite a while, will it?” Miss Dupont asked anxiously.

“As soon as I finish my intern- ship. No more alien worlds for me. I like Earth.”

Mrs. Kalmar got him to talk about it, which was much easier than getting him to stop, while

Dr. Kalmar showed the old man where the liquor stock and fixings were kept. Watching him mix tlic ingredients with a chemist’s care, Dr. Kalmar felt a glow of nostal- gia. He recalled the celebration at Dr. Lowell's house, several months after he had come from Earth, when he’d enjoyed himself so much that he’d passed out. It was one of the pleasanter memo- ries of his start on Deneb.

"Can’t mix them all in a single batch,” Dr. Lowell explained, bringing the drinks over one at a time as he finished preparing them. “Mrs. Kalmar . . . Miss Dupont . . . our gracious host. Dr. Kalmar . . . and now Dr. Hoyt and myself.” He lifted his glass at Dr. Hoyt. “Welcome to our latest associate — product, like ourselves, of the great medi- cal schools of Earth. It’s a forlorn hope, but may he learn as much from us about our peculiar metli- ods as we learn from him about the latest terrestrial advances.”

Dr. Hoyt, smiling as if he didn’t think it possible, stood up when they’d downed their toast to him. “To Earth,” he said. “May I get back in record time.” He gulped it, said, “Delicious — for a colonial drink,” and froze with his smile as fi.xed as if it had been painted on.

“Leo!” Miss Dupont cried, and shook him, but he stayed frozen.

“The man’s allergic to alco-

58

AMAZING STORIES

hoi!” said Dr. Kalmar, astonished.

“Do something!” Mrs. Kalmar begged. “Don’t let him stand there like that! He — he looks like a petrified man!”

“Don’t get panicky,” said Dr. Lowell in a quiet, confident voice. “That’.s when yon passed out, Dr. Kalmar. Right after your first taste of my special.”

“But we haven’t,” Dr. Kalmar objected.

“Naturally. Your drinks weren’t drugged.”

“Drugged?” shrieked Miss Du- pont. "You doped him?”

"That’s rather obvious, isn’t it? ”

“But — what for?” Dr. Kal- mar stammered.

"Same reason I slipped you a mickey not long after you got here. We can't take any chances that he’ll ship back to Earth. You see? ”

"I don’t,” raged Miss Dupont. “I think it’s a cheap, dirty, foul trick and it won’t work, either. You can't keep him drugged.”

“I don’t like you talking to Dr. Lowell like lliaL,” said Dr. Kalmar indignantly.

“You should be the last one to object,” Mrs. Kalmar pointed out. “He said he drugged you, too.”

"I know,” Dr. Kalmar said blankly. “I don’t understand — ”

“You will,” promised Dr. Low- ell. “Just come along and don’t interfere. Better give him the

order; it’ll keep things straighter.”

Mrs. Kalmar was grimly disap- proving and Miss Dupont was close to hysteria. Only Dr. Kal- mar relaijied his awed respect for Dr. Lowell. If the old man said it was all right, it was, even if he couldn’t see the reason.

“Go ahead,” urged Dr. Lowell.

“Dr. Hoyt!”

“Yes, Dr. Kalmar?”

“You will come with us!”

“Yes, Dr. Kalmar.”

Dr. Lowell took them back to the hospital.

“Now what?” asked Dr. Kal- mar.

“You actually don’t know?” Miss Dupont demanded. “He wants to put Leo through the Ego Alter.”

"That’s absurd,” Dr. Kalmar said angrily, "and an outright slander. Dr. Lowell wouldn't con- sider suqji a thing — the boy didn’t ask for it and it wasn’t authorized by Social Control.”

Dr. Lowell smiled genially and opened the door to the Ego Alter room. "I hate to disillusion you, Dr. Kalmar. That’s exactly what I have in mind — the same thing I did to you.”

"That’s absurd,” Dr. Kalmar repeated, but with less conviction ajid more confusion than before.

“It worked. Tell him to sit down.”

Dr. Kalmar did, and automa- tically fitted the w'ired plastic helmet to Dr. Hoyt's head.

NO CH.4.RGE FOR ALTERATIONS

59

“You can’t!” cried Miss Du- pont as he reached for the dials on the control console. “It’s not fair!”

“Let's not get involved in a discussion on ethics,” Dr. Lowell said. “Ueneb can’t afford to lose him; we need every doctor we have. If he goes back to Earth it may be years before we get a replacement.”

“But you can’t do it without , his constmt!”

“There’s time for that later,” the old man grinned. “Keep his eyes on you, Dr. Kalmar, while you build up his father image. Cut down on hostility, aggression and power drive. Boost social respon- sibility and adventurousness. But make sure he’s looking at you constantly.”

"I won’t allow it,” said Mrs. Kalmar flatly. “You won’t make my husband violate his oath.”

“ I did it to him, didn't I? " Dr. Lowell replied jovially. “It got you a husband.”

Miss Dupont grabbed at Dr. Kalmar's hand, but he had al- ready turned on the current.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Well, he has to get married, of course,” Dr. Lowell said. “Let him look at Miss Dupont — - she’s scheduled for this year, isn’t she? — while you give him a shot of mating urge. Now, wipe out the memory of this incident and put him on a joy jag. We can validate that by liquoring him up after-

ward. When you’re finished, bring him to.”

Dr. Hoyt came out of it almost with a whoop. He lurched out of the insulated seat, stared at Miss Dupont for a moment with eyes that almost glittered, and seized and kissed her.

“My goodness!” she gasped.

“Now, what were you saying about ethics?” Dr. Lowell asked.

There was no answer. Both Miss Dupont and Mrs. Kalmar had frozen.

“You drugged them, too?” Dr. Kalmar weakly wanted to know.

“A bit slower-acting,’’ ad- mitted the old man. “All you have to do with them is wipe out the last half hour. Don’t want any witnesses to an unethical act, you know. Oh, and put' them on a jag also.”

Dr. Kalmar followed instruc- tions.

Finished, they left the three uproariously drunk in the waiting room and went to wash up. Dr. Kalmar went along bewilderedly. The old man was as unconcerned as if he did this sort of thing daily.

“I was as arrogant and bel- ligerent as this squirt was?”

"Worse,” Dr. Lowell said. “He was willing to finish out his in- ternship. You weren’t. Still wor- ried about the ethics?”

“Yes. Naturally.”

“All right, apply some logic, then. Are you happier on Deneh than you’d have been on Earth?”

60

AMAZING STORIHS

“Well, certainly. I’d have been lucky to get a job doctoring in a summer camp. I wouldn’t trade a roomy planet like this fur the jammed cubicles of Earth. And I like our methods belter than ter- restrial dogma. But those arc my preferences. I can't inflict them on anybody else.”

“The hell they were your pref- erences. You bickered more about our methods and longed more loudly for the tenements of Earth than this lad ever did. All it took was a slight Ego Alter and you have a happier fife than you would have had. Right?”

Dr. Kalmar felt his tension ease. If the old man said it was right, it was. He became momen- tarily resentful when he realized that that reaction had been in- stalled by Dr. Lowell, but then he smilerl. It really was right. A bit arbitrary, perhaps, but for the good of Dr. Hoyt and Deneh iji the long run, just as it had been for himself.

“Look,” he said, drying his arms. “I've been wanting my wife to go through a slight rephysical.”

“Why don't you ask her?”

“The fact is that I’m afraid she’ll think Tm dissatisfied and I don’t want her to get resentful.”

“Maybe she'd like you to do some changing, too."

“What for? I’m all right.”

“She probably feels the same way about herself.”

“But all I want are a few changes In her. She’s as high as a space pilot now. It would be a cinch to — ”

Dr. Lowell flung down the towel and gave him an outraged glare. “There’s such a thing as professional ethics, Dr. Kalmar!”

“But you — ”

“That’s different. It was a social decision, not a selfish one. If you ."isk her and she agrt^es, that’s up to her. But you can’t take advantage of her in an ego- centric, arbitrary way. You just try it and I’ll have you sent back to Earth.”

Dr. Kalmar felt his knees grow weak in alarm. “No, no. It’s not that important. Just an insig- nificant kind of wish.”

And it was, he discovered when they went out to the wailing room. Unused to jags, Mrs. Kal- mar was more affectionate than she'd been since they were first married ; he’d have to remember to go on them periodically with her. Miss Dupont, unwilling to budge out of Dr. Hoyt’s light arms, had glassily joyous eyes. Dr. Hoyt didn’t let her go until he caught sight of Dr. Kalmar.

“Greatest doctor I ever met,” he said enthusiastically. “ Woti’ful planet, Deneb. Just wanna marry Miss Dupont, stay here and learn at your feet. Okay?”

Dr. Kalmar’s glance at the old man was no leas worshipful. “It couldn’t be okayer,” he said.

NO CHARGE FOR ALTERATIONS

61

By THEODORE STURGEON

Paul was running away from home. Maybe someday he'd come back, covered with glory and a few scars. To a guy who rescues fair damsels from alligators, scars are badges of honor.

Wait a minute. Paul didn't have scars; that zoas the young man who knew about women in Sacramento. Woman who rode around in expensive cars and ate chocolate-covered cherries ... or was that some other woman?

If you've the knack of remembering what it was like to be a small boy, how easy it was to get day-dreams and reality mixed until you weren't .yure where one left off and the other began,

then Theodore Sturgeon wrote

WniJN Paul ran away from home, he met no one and saw nothing all the way to the highway. The highway swept sud- den and wide from the turn by Keeper’s Rise, past the blunt end of the Township Road, and nar- rowed off to a distant pinpoint pricking at the horizon. After a time Paul could see the car.

It was new and long and it threw down its snout a little as the driver braketl, .and when it stopped beside him it seesawed easily, once, on its big soft springs.

'I'he driver was a large man, large and costly, with a grey Stetson and a dove-colored top- coat made of something that tlid not crease in the bend of his arms but rolled and folded instead. The woman beside him had a broad brow and a pointed chin. Her skin had peach shadings, but was deeply tanned, and lier hair was

this story especially for you!

the red gold called “straw color” by a smith as he watches Ins forge. She smiled at the man and she smiled at Paul almost the same way.

“Hi, son.” the man said. "This the old Township Road?”

“Yes sir,” said Paul, “it sure is.”

“ Figured it was,” said the man. “A feller don’t forget.”

“ Reckon you don’t.” said Paul.

“Haven’t seen the old town in twenty years,” said the man. “J guess it ain’t changed much.”

“These old places don’t change much,” said Paul with scorn.

“Oh, they ain’t so bad to come back to,” said the man. “ Mate to get chained down in one all my life, though.”

“Me too,” agreed Paul. “You from .around here?'”

“Why sure,” said the m.in. “My name’s Roudenbush. Any more Roudenbushes around

63

here that you know of, boy?”

“Place is full of ’em,” said Paul. “Hey! You’re not the Roudenbush kid that ran aw^ay twenty years ago?”

“The very one,” said the man. “What happened after 1 left?”

“Why, they talk about you to this day,” said Paul. “Your mother sickened and died, and your pa got up in meetin’ a month after you left an’ asked forgiveness for treatin’ you so mean.”

“Poor old feller,” said the man. “I guess it was a little rough of me to run out like that. But he aftked for it.”

“ I bet he did.”

“This is my wife,” said the man.

The woman smiled at Paul again. She did not speak. Paul could not lliink up what kind of a voice she might have. She leaned forward and opened up the glove compartment. It was cram full of chocolate-covered cherries.

“Been crazy about these ever since I was a kid,” said the man. “Help yourself. I got ten pounds of them in the back.” He leaned into the leather cushions, took aut a silver cigar case, put a cigar between his teeth, and applied a lighter that flamed up like a little bonfire in his hand. “Yes, sir,” said the man. “J got two more cars back in the city, and a tuxedo suit with shiny lapels. I made my killing in the stock mar- ket. and now I’m president of a

railroad. I’ll be getting back there this evening, after 1 give the folks in the old town a treat.”

Paul had a handful of choco- late-covered cherries. “Gee,” he said. After that he walked on down the highway. The cherries disappeared and the man and the lady and the car all disappeared, but that didn’t matter. “ It’ll be like that,” said young Paul Rou- denhush. “ It’ll be just like that.” Then, “ I wonder what that lady’s name’ll be.”

A quarter of a mile down the pike was the turnoff to the school, and there was the railroad crossing with its big X on a i>ole wliich he always read RAIL CROSSING ROAD. The fore- noon freight was bowling down the grade, screaming two longs, a short, and a long. When he was a kid, two years or so back, Paul used to think it saluted him: Paul . . . Roud . . . n’ Bush-h-h . . . with the final sibilant made visible in the plume of steam on the en- gine’s iron shoulder. Paul trotted up to the crossing and stood just where the first siilintered plank met the road surface. Engine, tender, Pennsylvania, Nickel Plate. T. & N. O., Southern, Sou t licrn , Pen n sy 1 va n la , I ’^re Marquette, Canadian Pacific. Cars from all over: hot places, cold places, far places. Automo- biles, automobiles, cattle, tank. Tank tank cattle. Refrigerator, refrigerator, automobiles, ca-

64

AMAZING STORIKS

boose. Caboose with a red Hag flying, and a glimpse at _the window of a bull-necked trainman shaving, suds on his jowls like a mad dog. Then the train was a dwindling rectangle on the track, and on its top was the silhouette of a brakeman, leaning easily into wind and velocity, walking on lop of the boxcars.

With the train in one ear and dust in the other, Paul faced the highway. A man stood at the f)ther side of the tracks. Paul gaped at him.

He was wearing an old brown jacket with a grey sheepskin col- lar, and blue dungarees. These he was dusting off with long weather- beaten hands, one of which — the right — looked like a claw. There was no ring-finger or little finger, and a third of the palm’s breadth was gone. From the side of the middle finger to the side of the wrist, the hand was neatly sealed

with a type of flexible silvery scar-tissue.

He looked up from his dusting at Paul. "Hi, bub.” Either he had a beard or he badly needed a shave. Paul could see the cleft in his square chin, though. The man had eyes as pale as the color of water poured into a glass after the milk had been drunk.

Paul said "Hi,” still looking at the hand. The man asked him what that town was over there in the hollow, and Paul told him. He knew now what the man was — one of those fabulous characters who rides on freight trains from place to place. Rides the rods. Catch a fast freight out of Casey, which was K.C., which was Kan- sas City. They had been evcr>’- where and done everything, these men, and they had a langu.agc all their own. Handouts and line bulls, Chi and mulligan and grab a rattler to Nollins.

The man squinched up his eyes

at the town , as if he were trying to drive his gaze through the hill and see more. “The old i>lare hasn't growed none," lie said, and spat.

Paul spat too. “Never will,’’ he said.

“You from there?”

“ Vup."

“Me too," said the man sur- prisingly.

“Gosh," said Paul. “You don’t look like you came from around here.”

The man crossed the single track to Paul’s side. “I guess I don’t. 1 been a lot of places since I left here.”

“Where jou been?” asked Paul.

The man looked into Paul's open eyes, and through them to Paul’s open credulousness. “All over the world,” he said. “All over this country on freights, and all over the oceans on ships.” He bared his right forearm. “Look there.” And sure enough he had a tattoo.

“Women,” said the man, flexing his claw so that the tattoo writhed. “That’s what 1 like.” lie closed one pale eye, pushed his mouth sidewise under it, and clucked a rapid chick-chick from his pale cheek.

Paul wet his lips, spat again, and said, “Yeh. Oh boy.”

The man laughed. He liad bad teeth. “You’re like I was. Wasn’t room enough in that town for me.”

“Me either,” said Paul. “I

ain’t' going back there no more."

“Oh, you’ll go back. You’ll want to look it over, and ask a few questions around, and find out what happened to your old gals, and see how dead evcrj'thing is, so’s you can go away again knowin’ you dune right to leave in the first place. . . . I'liis here’s niy second trip back. Seems like every time I go through this part o’ the worlil I just got to drop by here and let the old burg give me a couple laughs.”* He turned his attention right around and looked outward again. “ You really are headin’ .out, bub?”

“Headin' out,” nodded Paul. He likcxl the sound of that. “Headin’ out." he said again.

“Where you bound?”

“The city,” I*aul said,” unless 1 hit somethin’ I like better ’fore I get there.”

The man considered him. “ Hey. Got any money?”

Paul shook his hcail cautiously. He had two dollars and ninety- two cents. The man seemed to make some decision : he shrugged. “Well, good luck, bub. More places you see, more of a man you'll be. Woman told me that once, in Sacramento.”

“Th- — oh\” said Paul. Ap- proaching the grade crossing was a maroon coupe. “It’s Mr. Sher- man!”

“Who’s he?”

“The sheriff. He’ll be out lookin’ for me! ”

66

AMAZING STORIES

“Sheriff! Me for the brush. Don’t tag me. you little squirt ! Go the other way!” and he dived down the embankment and dis- appeared into the bushes.

I'rightened by the man’s sud- den harshness, confused by the necessity for instant action, Paul sluiffled for a moment, almost dancing, and then ran to the other side. Flat on his stomach in a growth of fireweed, he stopped breathing and peered at the road, d’he coupe slowed, all but stopped. Paul closed his eyes in terror. Then he heard the grate of gears and the rising whine as the car pulled over the tracks in second gear and moaned on up the high- way.

Paul waited five minutes, his fear leaving him exactly as fast as his sweat dried. Then he emerged and hurried along the highway, keeping a sharp watch ahead for the sheriff’s returning car. He saw no sign of the man wdth the claw. But then, he hadn't really ex- Ijccled to.

It could be like that, he thought. Travel this old world over. Gramps used to say that men like that had an itching foot, l^aul’s feet itched a little, if he thought about it. Hurt a little, too. He could come back years from now with a tattoo and a mutilated hand. Folks’d really take notice. The stories he could tell! “/ run down the bank, see, to haul ibis tomato out o’ th' drink. She was yellin' her blonde

head off. No sooner got my hooks on her when clomp! a alligator takes off part o’ me hand. I didn't mind none. Not when I carried this babe up the bank.” lie shut one eye, puslied his mouth sideways, and clucked. 'I’he sound, somehow, re- minded him of chocolate-covered cherries. . . .

Another half-mile, and the coun- try became more open. He flicked his eyes from side to si<le as he trudged. I'irst sign of that maroon coupe and he’d have to fade. "Sheriff! Me for the brush!” He felt good. He could keep ahead of the law. Bet your life. Go where you want to go, do what you want to do, come back for a laugli every once in a while. That was better, even, than a big car and a tuxedo suit. Women. A smooth-faced one in the car beside you or chick- chick! women all over, Sacramento and every place, to tell you what a man you are, because of all the places you’ve been. Yup; that was it.

7'here was a deep drone from overhead. Paul looked up and saw the plane — one of the private planes that l)ased at the airport forty miles away. Planes were no novelty, but Paul never saw one without an expressed wish that something would happen — not necessarily a crash, though that wouldn’t i>e bad, but niucii rather something that would bring the plane down for a forced landing, so

THE WAY HOME

67

he could run over and see the pilot get out, and maybe talk to him or even help him fix the trouble. “Let me know next time you’re at the field,” the pilot would say. . . .

Paul slowed, stopped, then went to the shoulder and sat down with his feet in the dry ditch. He watched the plane. It dipped a wing and circled, went off and came lower, made a run over the meadow. Paul thought he was go- ing to — well, of course he was goiixg to land!

The wheels touched, kicked up a puff of yellow dust that whisked out of existence in the prop-wash. They touched again and held the earth; the tail came down, bounced a little, and then the plane was carrying its wings instead of being carrierl. 'I’he wings were orange and the fuselage was blue, and it was glossy in the sun. The wings wobbled slightly as the plane tax- ied over the lumpy meadow, and Paul knew that if he held out his arms and wobbled them like that he would feel it In his shoulders.

The motor barked, and the pro- pellor-bladcs became invisible as the pilot braked one wheel anrl turned the ship in its own length. The proj^ellor, in profile, was a ghostly band and then a glass disc as the plane swung toward Paul. It snorted and wobbled across the meadow until it was within twenty feet of the fence and the ditch. Then, with a roar, it swung broad-

side to him and the sound of the motor dwindled to an easy pwap!- tick-tickety-pwap! while the pilot did knowledgeable things at the controls. Paul could see him in there, plain as day, through the cabin doors. The plane was beau- tiful; standing still it looked as if it was going two hundred miles an hour. The windshield swept right back over the pilot’s head. It was fine.

The pilot opened the door and vaulted to the ground. “Glory be! You’d think they’d have a field built in town after all those years."

“They never will,” said Paul. '‘Nice job you got there.”

The pilot, pulling off a pair of high-cuffed gloves, looked briefly at the plane and grinned. He was very clean and had wide shoulders and practically no hips. He wore a good soft leather jacket and tight breeches. “Know anybody in town, son?”

“Everybody, I guess.”

“Well, now. I can get ail the news from you before I go on in.”

“Say — ain't you Paul Rouden- bush?”

Paul froze, lie hadn’t said that. There were sudden icy cramps in the backs of his knees. The plane vanished. The pilot vanished. Paul sat with his feet in the dry ditch and slowly turned his head.

A maroon coupe stood by the ditch. Its door was open, and

68

AMAZING STORIES

there, one foot on the ninning- boanl, was Mr. Sherman. Sherif^^ Me for the brush!

Instead, he licked his lips and said, “ffi, Mr. Sherman.”

” My,” said Mr. Sherman, "you give me a turn, you did. Saw you sitting there so still, figured you’d been hit by a car or some such.”

” I’m all right,” said Paul faintly, lie rose. Might as well get it over with. "I was just . . . thinkiii’, 1 guess.”

Thinking — and now he was caught, and the thoughts raced through him like the cars of the forenoon freight; thoughts from hot places, cold places, far places. Stock-market, car, claw claw plane. Women, women, cigarette-lighter, lauding field. Thoughts that were real, thoughts that he made up; they barrelled on through him. with a roar and a swirl, and left him standing, facing the highway, and Mr. Sherman, who had caugliL him.

“Thinking, eh? Well, I’m right relieved,” said Mr. Sherman. He got back in the car, slammed the door, stepped on the starter.

” Mr. Sherman — ain’t you — ”

"Ain’t I what, son?”

‘‘Notiiin’, Mr. Sherman. Notliin" at all.”

"You’re a weird one,” said Mr. Sherman, shaking his head. "Hey, I’m heading back into town. Want a lift? It's near eating time.”

“No, thanks,” said Paul imme- diately and with great sincerity.

Paul watched the maroon coupe move off, his mind racing. The car was going into town. Without him. Mr. Shcritian did not know he was running away. Why not? Well, they hadn't missed him yet. Unless . . . unless they didn’t care whether he came hack or not. No. No, that couldn’t be! The car would go right past his house, soon’s it got in town. Wasn’t much of a house. In it, though, was his own room. Small, but absolutely his own.

The trouble with the other ways to go back, it took time to make a killing in the stock-market and get married. It took time to ac- quire a plane. It probably took quite a while to get part of your hand cut off. But this way —

Suddenly he was in the road screaming, "Mr. Sherman! Mr. Sherman!”

Mr. Sherman didn’t hear him but he saw him in the rear-view mirror. He stopped and backed ui> a bit. Paul climbed in, gasped his- thanks, and sat still, working on his wind. He got it all back just about the time they turned into the Township Road.

Mr. Sherman glanced abruptly at the boy. "Paul.”

“ Yessir.”

" I just had a thought. You, way out there on the pike; were you running away?’’

Paul said "No.” His eyes were more puzzled than anything else. ” I was coming back,” he said.

THE VV.\Y HOME

69

r^'Vr.ri

70

TURNOVER POINT

By ALFRED COPPEL

Every era in history has had its Pop Ganlon's. Along in years and not successful and not caring much anyway. A matter of living out their years, following an obscure path to oblivion.

It was that way in ancient Egypt, just as it will be when the Solar System shrinks to our size. And once in a while such men are given an opportunity to contribute to the society that has forgotten them. . . .

Pop Ganlon was no hero — he was only a spaceman. A space- man and a father. In fact, Pop was rather no-account, even in a profession that abounded with drifters. lie had made a meagre living prospecting asteroids and

hauling light freight and an oc- casional passenger out in the Belt Region. Coffee and cakes, nothing more. Not many people knew Pop had a son in the Patrol, and even fewer knew it when the boy was blasted to a cinder In a back alley in Lower IVIarsport.

Pop went on eating and breath- ing, but his life was over after that. He hit the bottle a little harder and his ship. The Luck, grew rustier and tackier, and those were the only outward signs that Pop Ganlon was a living dead man. He kept on grubbing among the cold rocks and pusliing The Luck from Marsport to Cal- listo and back with whatever low- mass payloads he could pick up. He might have lived out his string of years like that, obscure and alone, if it hadn’t been for John Kane. Kane was Pop Gan- lon’s ticket to a sort of personal immortality — if there is sucli a thing for an old spaceman.

It was in Yakki, down-canal from Marsport, that Kane found Pop. There is a biUciII spacej)orl there — a boneyard, really — for buckets whose skippers can’t pay the heavy tariff imposed by the hig ramp. All the wrecks nest there while waiting hopefully for a payload or a grulrstake. They have all of Solis I..acus for a land- ing field, and if they spill it doesn't matter much. The drifting red sands soon cover up the scat- tered shards of dural and the slow,

lonely life of Yakki goes on like before.

The Patrol was on Kane’s trail and the blaster in his hand was still warm when he shove<l it up against Pop Ganlon's ribs and made his proposition.

He wanted to get off Mars — out to Callisto. To Blackwater, to Ley's Landing, it didn’t matter too much. Just off Mars, and quickly. His eyes had a metallic glitter and his hand was rock- steady. Pop knew he meant what he said when he told him life was cheap. Someone else’s life, not Kane’s.

That’s how it happened that The Luck lifted that night from Yakki, outward bound for Ley’s Landing, with Pop and Kane aboard her alone.

Sitting at the battered console of The Luck, Pop watched his passenger. He knew Kane, of course. Or rather, he knew of him. A killer. The kind that thrives and grows fat on the frontiers. The bulky frame, ihe cropped black hair, the predatory eyes that looked like two l)laster muzzles. They were all familiar to Pop. Kane was all steel and meanness. The kind of carrion bird that took what others had worked for. Not big time, you understand. In another age Ite’d have been a torpedo — a hireling killer. But out among the stars he was work- ing for himself. And doing well.

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Pop didn’t care. His loyalty to the Patrol had stopped quite sud- denly not long before — in a dark alley in Lower Marsport. This was only a job, he told himself now. A job for coffee and cakes, and maybe a grubstake to work a fow more lonely rocks. Life had become a habit for Pop, even if living had ended.

“What are you staring at, !*op?’’ Kane’s voice was like the rest of him. Harsh and cold as space itself.

“At you, I guess,” Pop said, “ I was wondering what you’d done — and where — and to whom.”

“You’re a nosey old man,” Kane said. “Just get me to Ley’s Landing. That's w’hat I'm paying for, not a thing more.”

Pop nodded slowly and turned back to the control board. They were above the Belt by now, and a few short hours from turnover point. The cranky drives of The Luck needed all his attention.

Ih-esently he said, “We’ll be turning over soon. Want to get some rest? ”

Kane laughed. “No thanks, old man. I’ll stay here and watch you.”

Pop eyed the ready blaster and nodded again. He wondered v'aguely how it would feel to die under the blast of such a weapon. It couldn’t be very painful. He hoped it wasn’t painful. Perhaps tile boy hadn’t sulTered. It would

be nice to be sure, he thought.

There wasn’t much for Pop to remember about the boy. He’d never been one for writing many letters. But the District Patrol- man had come down to Yakki and looked Pop up — afterward. He’d said the boy was a good officer. A good cop. Died doing his job, and tall that sort of thing. Pop swallowed hard. Ilis job. What had ‘his job’ been that night in Lower Marsport, he wondered. Had someone else finished it for him?

He remembered about that time hearing on the Mars Radio that a Triangle Post Office had been knocked over by a gunman. That might have been it. The Pa- trol would be after anyone knock- ing over EMV Triangle property. The Earth-Mars-Venus Govern- ment supported the Patrol for things like that.

I’op guided The Luck skill- fully above the Belt, avoiding with practiced case the few er- rant chunks of rock that hurtled up out of the swarms. He talked to Kane because he was starved for talk — certainly not because he was trying to play Sherlock. Pop had long ago realized that he was no mental giant. Besides, he owx*d the Patrol nothing. Not a damned thing.

“Made this trip often?” Pop tried to strike up a conversation with Kane. His long loneliness seemed sharper, somehow, more

TURNOVER POINT

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poignant, when he actually had someone to talk to.

“Not often. I’m no space pig.” It was said with scorn.

“There’s a lot to spacing, you know,” Pop urged.

Kane shrugged. “I know easier ways to make a buck, old timer.”

“Like how?”

“A nosey old man, like I said,” Kane smiled. Somehow, the smile wasn’t friendly. “Okay, Pop, since you ask. Like knocking off wacky old prospectors for their dust. Or sticking up sandcar cara- vans out in Syrtis. Who's the wiser? The red dust takes care of the leftovers.”

Pop shook his head. “Not for me. There’s the Patrol to think of.”

Kane laughed. “Punks. Bell- boys. They’d better learn to shoot before they leave their school- books.”

Pop Ganlon frowned slightly. “You talk big, mister.”

Kane’s eyes took on that metal- lic glitter again. He leaned for- ward and threw a canvas packet on the console. It spilled crisp new EMV certificates. Large ones. “1 take big, too,” he said.

Pop stared. Not at the money. It was more than he had ever seen in one pile before, but it wasn’t that that shook him. It was the canvas packet. It was marked: Foslal Service, EMV. Pop sud- denly felt cold, as though an icy wind had touched him.

“You . . . you killed a Patrol- man for this,” he said slowly.

“That’s right. Pop,” grinned Kane easily, “Burned him down in an alley in Lower Marsport. It was like taking candy from a baby. . . .”

Pop Ganlon swallowed hard. “Like taking candy from a . . . baby. As easy as that. ...”

“As easy as that, old man,” Kane said.

Pop knew he was going to die then. He knew Kane would blast him right after turnover point, and he knew fear. He felt some- thing else, too. Something that was new to him. Hate. An icy hate that left him shaken and weak.

So the boy’s job hadn’t been finished. It was still to do.

There was no use in dreaming of killing Kane. Pop was old. Kane was yo\mg — and a killer. Pop was alone and without weapons — save The Luck. . . .

Time passed slowly. Outside, the night of deep space keened soundlessly. The stars burned bright, alien and strange. It was time, thought Pop bleakly. Time to turn The Luck.

“Turnover point,” he said softly.

Kane motioned with his blaster. “Get at it.”

Pop began winding the fly- wheel. It made a whirring sound in the confined space of the tiny

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AMAZING STORIES

control room. Outside, the night began to pivot slowly.

“We have to turn end-for-enti,” Pop said. 'I'hat way we can de- celerate on the drop into Callisto. But, of course, you know all about that, Mr. Kane.”

“1 told you I’m no space pig,” Kane said brusquely. “I can handle a landing and maybe a takeoff, but the rest of it I leave for the boatmen. Like you. Pop.”

Pop spun the flywheel in si- lence, listening to the soft whir. Presently, he let the wheel slow and then stop. He straightened and looked up at Kane. The blaster muzzle was six inches from his belly. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

‘‘You . . . you’re going to kill me,” Pop said. It wasn’t a ques- tion. Kane smiled, showing while teeth.

“I ... I know you are,” Pop said unsteadily. ” But first, I want to say something to you.”

“Talk, old timer,” Kane said. “But not too much.”

‘‘That boy — that boy you killed in Marsport. He was my son,” Pop said.

Kane’s face did not change ex- pression. ‘‘Okay. So what?”

Pop’s lips twitched. “I just wanted to hear you say It.” He looked at the impassive face of the killer. “You made a mistake, Mr. Kane. You shouldn’t have done that to my boy.”

“ Is that all?”

Pop nodded slowly. “1 guess that’s all.”

Kane grinned. “Afraid, old man?”

‘‘I’m a space pig,” Pof) said. “Space takes care of its own.”

“You’re in a bad way, old timer,” Kane said, “and you haven't much sense. I'm doing you a favor.”

Pop lifted his hands in an in- stinctive gesture of futile protec- tion as the blaster erupted flame.

I'here was a smell In the control room like burnt meat as Kane bolstered his weapon and turned the old man over with a foot. Pop was a blackened mass. Kane dragged him to the valve and jet- tisoned the l)ody into space.

Alone among the stars, The Luck moved across the velvet night. The steady beat of flame from her tvibes was a tiny spark of man-made vengeance on the face of the deeps.

From her turnover point, she drove outward toward the spin- ning Jovian moons. For a short while she could be seen from the EMV Observatory on Callisto, but very soon she faded into the outer darkness.

Much later, the Observatory at Land’s End on Triton watched her heading past the gibbous mass of Pluto — out into the inter- stellar fastnesses.

The thrumming of the jets was {Continued on page 162)

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76

Illustrator: Charles Berger

BELLY LAUGH

By IVAR JORGENSEN

You hear a lot of talk these days about secret weapons. If it's not a new wrinkle in nuclear fission, it's a gun to shoot around corners and down winding staircases. Or maybe a nice new strain of bacteria guaranteed to give you radio-active dandruff. Our own suggestion is to pipe a few of our felevisJon commercials into Russia and bore the enemy to death.

Well, it seems that Ivar Jorgensen has kit on the ultimate engine of destruction: a weapon designed to exploit man's greatest weakness. The blueprint can be found in the next few pages; and as the soldier in the story says, our only hope is to keep a sense of humorl

Me? I’m looking for mj'- outfit.

Got cut off in that Holland 'I'unnel attack. Mind if I sit down with you guys a while? Thanks. Coffee? Damn ! This is heaven. Ain’t seen a cup of coffee in a year.

What? You siiid it! This sure is a hell of a war. Tough on a guy's feet. Yeah, that’s right. Holland

Tunnel skirmish. Where the Rusk- ies used that new gun. Uhuh. God ! It was awful. Guys popping off all around a guy and him not know- ing why. No sense to it. No noise. No wound. Just popping off.

That's the trouble with this war. It won't settle down to a rou- tine. Always something new. What

77

the hell chance has a guy got to figure things out? And I tell j’ou them Ruskies are coming up with new weapons just as fast as we are. Enough to make your hair stand on end.

Sugar? Christ, yes! Ain’t seen sugar for a year. You see, it’s like this: we were bottled up in the pits around the Tunnel for seven damn days. It was like nothiiig you ever saw before. Oops — sorry. Didn’t mean to splash you. I was laugh- ing about something that hap- pened there — to a guy. Maybe you guys would get a kick out of it. After all, we got to keep our sense of humor.

■ You see, there was me and a Kentucky kid named Stillwell in this j)it — a pretty big pit with lots of room — and we were all alone. This Stillwell was a nice kid — green and lonesome and it’s pretty sad, really, but there’s a yak in it. and — as I say — we got to keep a sense of humor.

Well, this Stillwell a rcall\- green kid — is unhappy and just plain . drooling for his gal back liome. He talks about his mother, of course, and his old man, but it’s the girl that’s really on his mind as you guys can plainly understand.

He’s seeing her every place — like spots In front of his eyes — ■ nice spots doing things to him, when this Ruskie babe shows up.

My gun came up without any orders from me just as she poked her puss over the edge of the pit,

and — huh? Oh, thank you kindly. It sure tastes good but 1 don’t want to short you guys. Thank you kindly.

Well, as T was saying, thi.s Ruskie babe pokes her nose over the edge of the pit and Stillwell dives and knocks down my gun. He says, “You son-of-a-bitch ! ’’ Just like that. Wild and desperate, like you’d say to a guy if the guy was just kicking over the last jug of water on a desert island.

It would have been long enough for her to kill us if I hadn’t had good reflexes. Even then, all 1 had time to do was knock the pistol out of her hand and drag her into the pit.

With her play bollixed, she was confused and bewildered. She ain’t a fighter, and she sits back against the wall staring at us dead pan with big expressionless eyes. She’s a plenty pretty babe and I could see exactly what had haiDpened as far as Stillwell was concerned. His spots had come to life in very ade- quate form so to speak.

Stillw'ell goes over and sits down besitle her and I’m very much on the alert, because 1 know where his courage comes from. But I de- cide it’s all right, because I see the babe is not belligerent, just con- fused kind of. And friendly.

And willing. Kind of a whipped- littlc-dog willing, and man oh man ! She was sure what Stillwell needed.

They kind of went together like

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AM.\ZING STORIES

a hand and a glove — natural-like. And it followed — pretty natural — that when Stillwell got up and led her around a wing of the pit, out of sight, she went willing — like that same little dog.

Uhuh. No, you guys. Two’s enough. I wouldn’t rob you. Well, okay, and thanks kindly.

Well, there I was, all alone, but happy for Stillwell, cause I know it’s what the kid needs, and in spots like that what difference does it make? Yank — Ruskic — Mongolian — as long as she's will- ing.

Then, you guys, Stillwell comes back out — wall-eyed — real wall- eyed— like being hit but not knocked out and still walking. I know what it is — some kind of shock. I get up and walk over and take a look at the babe where he’d left her — and I bust out laugh- ing. I told you guys there was a yak in this. I laughed like a fool —

it was that funny. As much as I had time to, before Stillwell cracked. It was enough to crack him — the little thing that pushes a guy over the edge.

He lets out a yell and screams, “For crisake! For crisake! Noth- ing but a bucket of bolts! Nothing but a couple of plastic lumps — ”

That was when I hit him. I had to. He was for the birds, Stillwell was. An hour later we got relieved and a couple of medicos carried him away strapped to a stretcher — gone like a kite.

They took the robot too, and its clothes, but they forgot the bras- siere, so 1 took it and I been carry- ing it ever since, but I’ll leave it with you guys if you want — for the coffee. Might make you think about home. After all, like the man says, we got to keep our .sense of humor.

Well, so long, you guys — and thanks.

/ai .K about women not Iwiig able to make up their minds. Look at old Mother Karth, she goes in eight different directions at one time:

(1) She revolves around the sun with a speed of alx)Ut 19 miles a second

(2) She rotates upon her own axis at about 500 yards per second

(3) She partici|)ates in the sun’s forward motion in the direction of Vega, the stationery star

(4) The gravitational influence of the moon gravitates her

(5) She is part of the solar system's rotary motion upon its axis

(6) She takes part in the solar system’s revolution around a common center of gravity

(7) She swings from the poles toward the equator

(8) And she has some responsibility’ for the precession of the equinoxes which is caused by the attraction of the sun and moon on the ring of heavy matter which forms the equatorial protulicrancc of the Earth.

UKI-LY LAUGH

70

llluatiator; Turn O'SulUvtut

80

THERE BE TYGERS

By RAY BRADBURY

If yau are wondering why we're presenting this particular story by Ray Bradbury, here's the reason. A new one we had counted an just dtdn t come through after we’d put his name on the cover. It meant we had to reprint one of his best — or drop him out entirely. More than likely you haven’t read this one before anyway . . . and take it from us he has never done better.

We'd rather not tell you anything about it here. Ray’s fiction al^ysfar more than plot. Much of its charm and value is found %n the magic of his style — a style which has made his work unique.

Copyright 1951 by

You'll never come back.” Hell- man pared his fingernails casually. “Something frightening will happen to you, something vile and terrible. Remember the other expeditions. My God, the first Mars rocket killed off by halluci- nations, the Weekner-Venus party bakcxl alive, I hear.” Heilman gestured to a three-dimensional map which hung like a dark mo- bile in the center of his parlor. Glittering planets floated there in a black void. “It’s a hobby of mine,’’ he said. “You see the tiny rocket ships there, on each tiny planet? I keep track, just like the government. When a particular

ry floJt afid Company

81

rocket fails to return from some horrible world or other, I sim- ply — " He twitched his hand del- icately, wrist-deep, into the silent depths of the map. “ — toss the rocket into the waste-basket.” Something like a silver seed tinkled from his fingers into the basket. “And turn off the light in that one tiny world.” Click. A planet stopped gleaming in the small night. “Another world in- vestigated and found wanting, another multi-milHon-dollar ex- pedition down the cosmic drain. No, iny dear Forester, you’ll never come back alive. Look. I’ve numbered this tiny new little rocket A-1000 for you and your men. You’re traveling off to Planet 4 of Star System 70, right? W'ell, here’s Planet 4; I’ll switch it on for you. There. And one year from tonight, when you don’t show up, I’ll switch it off again and throw this little rocket of yours into the incincerator. Good- i>yc forever, dear friend.”

Heilman smiled knowingly as he released the tiny nccdle-rockct at the rim of the dark galaxy. The rocket flew quietly into space leaving Heilman, the cynic, far behind- - - .

“That’s it,” said Forester.

He nodded out the port and the men looked with him at the beau- tiful globe of soil and sea and for- est and cloud that swung up un- der their rocket. A month had

passed, they had slept most of it away in the hypnotic machines and now, like children freslily wakened for tlieir morning exer- cises, they waited for their ship to touch Planet Four in Star System 70.

“I keep thinking about what Heilman said.” The man next to b'orester rubbed his chin. “Will we come through this alive?”

Forester laughed. “Yes. Be- cause we’re us. I always feel that way, don’t you? Bad things al- ways hapjKm to other people, not to us," not to me. I’ll live forever.”

“A comforting but hardly logi- cal thought when one is impaled on a rhino-carpis.”

“Rhino-carpis?”

"A terrible beast my father made up when 1 was a boy. He always said he'd throw me to the rhino-carpisses if I wasn’t good.”

The men laughed quietly. They gazed at the planet which rose softly to touch the ship. The auto- matic landing units functioned like the oiled machinery of a Swiss typewriter.

“Ours is a funny policy when you think of it," said Kocstlor, the radiologist. “We send rockets lo each new world. If the, rockets fail to return, we never seiul a second one to check the reason why. There are so many worlds we can’t waste time on a hostile one, fighting futile wars, subduing natives; problems of logistics and all that."

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“A very sensible policy,” said Forester. ‘‘Each rocket represents two years of time, ten million dollars, and God knows what in human lives, the years it took to educate us all. No use throwing us out with the bath-water, eh?”

‘‘And yet,” replied Koestler, “I can’t stop wondering. What happened to all those rockets on all those worlds we never went back to check on a second time? Oh, we know what happened on Mars, the men were killetl. We had to go back there, it was an operational base. But what of all those lost expeditions on worlds we’ll never try again?”

“Simple. The men either crashed, or were burned by na- tives, shot, stabbed, or broiled for supper.”

‘‘Why must we talk this way a moment before we step out on a new planet, with God-knows-what waiting for us?” A third man moved forward between them.

‘‘Right, Driscoll.” Forester turned. ‘‘Let’s get into our equip- ment. Going ashore in five min- utes.”

The men walked off.

Only Forester remained behind for a moment at the crystal port staring out at the green world of grass and lakes. “Well,” he whis- pered to himself, “what if Hell- man was right? ”

Driscoll held a handful of yel- low flowers out before him. “ Here

are your rhino-carpisses, Koest- ler!”

Koestler eyed the distant for- est. ‘‘We’ve only been walking a few minutes. No telling, they may have guillotines set up in the woods, and oil-vats to boil us in.”

The men loosened their guns in their creaking holsters.

They walked forward through open fields of clover, coming to no highway or fence or building. They walked under a mellow sun and there was a mellow wind blowing all about.

‘‘Ho-ho!” said Driscoll, stand- ing at the top of a little rise.

The others glanced at him.

“I was just thinking. Feel.'* Driscoll held his arms out loosely. “Feel how the wind is. Remem- ber when you were a kid? Remem- ber how you used to run and how the wind felt? Like feathers around your arms. You thought you could fly. You ran and you thought any moment you’d fly, my God, you’d’ve given your right arm to fly. But you never quite did.”

The men stood remembering. There was an aspect to the day that encouraged such remember- ing. The smells of pollen and weed and some distant and delicious fruit, a smell of new rain drying Upon a million blades of grass.

Driscoll gave a little run. "Feel it, by God. The wind. You know, we never have really flown. For all our science we have to fit our-

IIERE THERE BE TYGERS

83

selves into blundering big' planes and jets'and rockets, tons of junk and trickery. But what I mean is the simple thing itself, flying alone, flying with nothing but your arms, flying like a bird. The thing you felt twenty years back. When you were so high, just to put your arms out like this.” He extended his arms. ‘‘And run.” He began to run ahead of them, laughing at hiS own idiocy. ‘‘And fly!” he cried.

He flew.

Time passed on the silent gold wrist watches of the men standing below. Five minutes ticked by. They shielded their eyes from the sun. They stared up. They seemed to be watching some high sport, some shuttlecock in the air, lumi- nous and changing. They turned their gaze in six directions. And from the air came a high sound of almost unbelievable laughter.

At last, Driscoll flew down.

He landed at their feet, tears of laughter and disbelief rolling from his blue eyes. ‘‘Did you see me! My God, did you see! I flew! For God’s sake, I flew! Did you see it?”

They had seen. They had watched him soaring higher and higher into a blue sky to dive and flip about like a boy rollicking on a blue mattress.

“Let me sit down. Lord, oh Lord.” He gasped and slapped his knees, chuckling. He made a

twittering motion of his fingers. “I’m a sparrow, I’m a robin, I’m a hawk, damn it! Go on, all of you! Try it!”

‘‘What happened?” Forester knelt beside him.

” It’s the wind, that’s what it is,

I didn't do a thing but think I wanted to fly. I ran, and next thing I knew the wind picked me up and there I was in the air. Scared the hell out of me. But then I knew I couldn’t fall. The wind wouldn’t let me.”

‘‘What do you think?” Forester glanced at the other men. “Shall we go back to the rocket and get out of here? ”

“Get out of here?” cried Dris- coll, sobering, but still amused. “Why? It’s perfect. You can have your rockets. I can fly, by God, better than any jet in the uni- verse, and to hell with rockets and planes.”

The men shuffled their feet. They gazed at the great soft area of sky waiting to be jumped upon in coiled-spring abandon; there was the vast and serene play- ground, and the wind whistling over their ears, calling to them.

“It’s all right,” said Driscoll, “You’re too suspicious.”

“In the interests of science, let’s exj>eriment,” said Chatterton, the anthropologist, drily.

Forester examined his arms, frowning. He put them out on the warm-cool air. The wind wavered and trembled the cloth, sighing,

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whispering. There was a kite sound in the air, a humming as of strings and paper, a sound of eternal March.

“How did you do it, Driscoll?”

Driscoll considered. “1 ran. I put up my arms. And then.” He hesitated. “ I asked the wind.”

“Oh, come off it!”

“I did. And it flew me, Lord, like a feather!"

“All right.” Forester waved the others back. “I’ll take a chance. If I’m killed, if I fall, back to the ship, all of you.”

He took a deep breath. “Now, once more, Driscoll?”

“Run.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Run faster. That’s it. Faster!”

He ran.

“Now, put up your arms.”

He put up his arms.

“Now, ask the wind to give you a sail, go on !”

Forester’s lips trembled.

Everyone shouted and looked up.

“There he goes,” said Driscoll, seated on the ground.

It was twilight.

The men sat on the hilltop, ex- hausted and laughing.

“Well, that’s all of us!”

“Everyone had his turn!”

“God, isn’t it perfect?”

“It's the thing!”

They had flown in duos, trios, quartettes, in squadrons. They had flown like orioles or eagles or

sparrows, each according to his body weight and agility. But they were all happy.

“That’s it. exactly.” Driscoll put a hand up to feel the smile on his face, as if it were a strange mask. “Now I know what it is. I’m happy. I haven't been this happy in a good fifteen years.”

One of the men came running up, jumping, half-flying, with can- teens in his arms. "Hey, I found a creek! Best darned water you ever drank!”

Forester accepted a canteen. “ Did you test it?”

“It’s tested and pure.”

The men passed the canteens from hand to hand, pressing them to their parched and exhausted mouths.

Forester splashed some of the stuff into his palm and sniffed. “Wine,” he said.

“ It can't be."

“Smell it. Taste it. White wine,”

The man who had fetched it gave a hoot. “Right! I followed the creek up.”

“It can’t be.”

“ No, it’s real. I found the forest where the creek starts. A big place with trees so thick you can’t get in, and a ton of berries on each tree. The berries fall like snow, all the time. As soon as some fall, others grow. And the berries get caught in a kind of floe there, so heavy that the ones on the bottom are crushed out and the fluid is

HERE THERE BE TYGERS

85

caught in a kind of stone quarry there. They ferrhent by them- selves. Maybe there’re yeast spores in it. Hell, who knows? By the time it flows down here in a creek, it's wine."

‘‘French domestic." Driscoll sipped his.

"Go easy on it,” warned For- ester.

Tliey passed the canteens twice more around.

‘‘Well," said Forester at last. "Time to break this up and build a camp. Or should we sleep in the ship tonight? "

"Neither,” said Driscoll. "We can sleep out here on the ground. We don’t need a camp or a fire to keep warm. Feel that air. It's going to be eighty-six degrees warm all night long. We’ll sleep like babes.”

"But out in the open . .

"Wc’ll post a guard, of course.”

Everyone nodded, happily, drowsily.

"Break out the supper rations.”

"Captain Forester." Chatter- ton came floating up, sublime and ridiculous in his new element. "Supper’s waiting for us yonder. Have a look."

The men walked half down the hill and then remembering that they could fly, flew. They landed where a small stream jumped into a bubbling pool of boiling water. The men stood about the pool rim waiting. Moments later four

fish, weighing five pounds each, swam along the cold creek and fell, glittering and wriggling, down through the interior of the hot spring. They floated to the top of the spring a minute later, cooked. Chatterton fished them out with a net.

"What did you say about sup- per, Captain?”

There were twenty varieties of fruit for dessert. After supper, the warriors of the rocket lay stuffed while their captain philosophized.

"I am still suspicious."

"No, Captain.”

“To quote an old map, one I saw when 1 was studying medie- val history, time of Columbus, the map said, ‘Here there be ty- gers.’ VVell, where are the tigers, where are the lions, the meat-eat- ers, where the cannibals and the missionary kettles aboil?”

" It was a miracle!" said Koest- Icr. "There were the trees, green, but no fruit on them. And I asked the trees and they grew fruit and dropped it on the grass.”

"We are all a little drunk."

"Hardly that. It’s simply that this planet is alive. The soil is a living flesh. It’s a race unto itself, and what a race, what a people it is! The trees have no special season except the season of our minds. The season of thinking, the season of hunger. If we should go away, there would be a long winter, but on our return the trees would summer again and there’d

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be footb And the winfl’s alive. Why not? It’s molecules and atoms, isn’t it? So it has a soul, it lives, it thinks, it can soar us about. Is that unusual? Not to a truly de- vout thinker: a rarity itself foclay. I.ife itself is a damned miracle. I’ve never gotten over thinking about it.”

Koestler patted the grass at his side with tender curiosity. “Why, I bet you if you asked the grass to grow and blanket you at night to keep you warm, it would. Ex- cept we won't have to do that. We’ll just ask the wind to blow summer breezes and it will, all night.”

Now, softly, a great and gentle rain began to fall upon the green

world. It was a rain of serenity and peace. They could hear it touch a billion times upon the nearby trees and grass blades.

“The final touch,” said Dris- coll. “We’ll never have to build houses here on this planet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s raining, stupid, but you notice it’s not raining on us. It’s raining all around, all around, on every side, but where we are, it never rains. It rains ahead of us, it rains after we pass. Even the rain has a season of the mind, has a courtesy and a respect for us. This is a very kind world, gentle- men.”

“1 don’t believe that about the rain,” murmured some one. “I believe the other things, yes, but

HERE THERE BE TYGERS

87

1 don't believe that.”

'‘I’ll prove it.” Driscoll jumped up, swaying just a trifle, chuck- ling, and walked straight out into the downpour. He stood with his arms out. The rain did not touch him. When he returned, he was dr>'. Kveryone felt of his uniform.

“On the other hand,” he said. “Watch.” He stripped, off his uni- form. Probing among his supplies, he walked out into the storm with a bar of green soap. He looked up as if addressing the million drops of water and said, “Now, I’ll have some, thank you.”

The rain drenched hhn.

He stood singing a song, lather- ing his body, having it washed off, lathering and rewashing himself, again and again.

The rain was gone. The moon was rising over the freshened hills.

“There's only one more thing,” said Koostler.

“Yes,” said everyone.

They looked at the forest and beyond.

They waited.

“It doesn’t work,” said Dris- coll. “I’ve been thinking very hard, but that’s different. I think we’ll have to go looking.”

“Let’s be logical." Koestler lit a cigarette. “If you ask for the wind to fly you and you ask for the trees to feed you, and you ask for the rain to bathe you, and everything is obediently alive, then, with any sort of logic at all.

one need only ask this world for the bounty of feminine compan- ionship.”

“I've thought a long time,” said Chatterton. “We’re all bach- elors. The Service won’t take married men. So here we are. men who’ve been up and down the system to the colonized planets for five or six years, hit every port. I’m tired of that. I want to settle down.” He saw the others nod. “Wouldn’t it be nice to . . . well . . . get married, and settle here? Do you realize how simple life could be? What do we do on Earth? We work like hell all our lives just to save enough to buy a house. We pay taxes. The cities stink of gasoline and exhaust fumes. Here, you don’t even need a house, the weather is perfect all the time. If it gets monotonous you can ask for rain and clouds and changes, but' you don’t }uive to be uncomfortable.”

“By God, you’re right. Takes half a man’s income half his life just to buy a home or car, and feed his face, on Earth.”

'‘Who needs cars? Who worries about fueling the wind here, or checking its transmission and tires and oil?”

The men laughed.

“But you need houses, for pri- vacy.”

“Live in the forest.”

“Right. And we won’t have to work for food, it’s here, wine, fruits, vegetables, cooked fish.

88

AMAZING STORIES

I’m tempted.”

“ It's dangerous,” said Forester. "You get soft. Look at the South Sea islanders, where did they ever get? What did they ever do? Life was so easy for them, they had to make up a tattoo ritual that was so terrifying it was the main event of their lives. Life was so boring, they had to cook up a trick thing like hurting themselves on pur- pose to keep the race on its feet. That would happen here, too, to us.”

“I'm not afraid of that,” said Chatterton. “This is a versatile planet, Captain. WeTe sitting on the bald dome of Plato, and the shaved head of Caesar, combined. What was it you said awhile back — ‘Here there be tygers” Well, if life should ever soften too much, we need only repeat that phrase a bit, ‘Here there be tygers. Here there be tygers.' and listen. . .

Far away, wasn't there the faintest roar of a giant cat, hidden in the deep night forest?

The men shivered and turned to each other, smiling.

“ Don’t worry about this planet. Captain, it'll take care of itself.”

"There’s only one thing makes me sad,” said Driscoll.

"What’s that?”

"Suppose there are people here, suppose their women are beauti- ful, suppose we meet them, and everything is agreeable. Then we go home and tell everyone on

Earth and everyone rushes here to the Happy Hunting Ground to ruin it. Lord, they’d tramp hell out of it, you know they would!”

“Yes,” said everyone, scowling, thinking of it.

“That’s right.”

“The brow of Plato, remem- ber,” said Chatterton. “Give this planet credit for some sense. To a few men it presents its versatile and sunny face. To an invasion of ten million men? What would they find? A muck-bog, a swamp, a fog world infested with sixty trillion mosquitoes, and ten bil- lion dinosaurs, not worth bother- ing with.” He slapped the earth under his feet. “Good old wise planet!”

Everyone nodded and lay down to sleep.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Did you notice, after you drank so much of the wine, you didn’t want any more? Just enough to make you mildly happy.”

“A world of moderation.”

“Good night.”

They lay with their eyes open. They lay listening to something like a great heart of earth beating slowly and warmly under their bodies. One by one they shut their eyes until only Forester lay awake, watching the stars. It’s a trifle warm, he thought.

A cool breeze fanned his head.

I'm thirsty, he thought.

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89

A drop of rain splashed on his mouth.

He laughed quietly.

I’m lonely, he thought.

Distantly, he heard voices; soft high voices.

He turned his eyes in upon a vision. There was a group of hills from which flowed a clear river, and in the shallows of that river, sending up spray, w’hite and swift themselves, with flowing hair, their faces bubbled and shimmer- ing, were the beautiful women.

They played like children on the banks. And it came to Forester to know about them and their life. They were nomads. They roamed over the face of this planet as was their desire. There were no cities or houses, there were no highways, there were only forests and hills and valleys and plains. There were no machines, only winds to carry them like white feathers where they wished. As Forester asked the questions, some in- visible answerer chimed the an- swers. Are they women? They are women. Where are the men? There are no men. These women produce their race, alone. The men died out on this world fifty thousand years ago. And where are these women now? A mile down from the green forest, a mile over on the wine creek by the six white stones, and a third mile to the large river. There, at the shallows, are the women, who

will make fine wives, and