Fantasy & Science Fiction, March 1956

THf MA(jAZIN.£ OJ.

VOLUME 10, No.3 MARCH

Superstition (short novelet) by POUL ANDERSON 3The Challenge hy JOHN W. VANDERCOOK 25

I1he Captain's Mate by EVELYN E. SMITH 40/The Wolves of Cernogratz by SAKI 49North Wind by CHAD OLIVER 53The Science Screen (a departtttent) by CHARLES BEAUMONT 71

Lion by P. M. HUBBARD ~ 75Night Sequence (novelet) by J. B. PRIESTLEY 78What Is a Rosicrucian? (article) by L. SPRAGUE DE CAMP 107

The Finer Breed. by HELEN M. URBAN 116

Recommended Reading: by ANTHONY BOUCHER 120

The Best Science-Fantasy Books of I9JJ

/The Dragon by RAY BRADBURY 12.5

Flying Chaucer (verse) by ANTHONY BRODE 127

"Coming Next Month" appears on page Io6

COVER PAINTING BY NICHOLAS SOLOVIOFF

(illustrating Superstition by POUL ANDERSON)

n

Joseph W. Ferman, PUBLISHER Anthony Boucher, EDITOR

The Magazine ofFantasy and Science Fiction, Volume 10, No.3, Whole No. 58, MARCH, 1956. PublisluNJmonthly by Fantllsy House, Inc., at 35t a copy. Annual subscription, 14.00 in U. S. and Possessions,' 15.00in all other cormtries. Publication o.ffice, Concord, N. H. General offices, 471 Park. Avenue, New York. 22,N. Y. Editorial office, 2643 Dllna St., Berkeley 4, Calif Entered III second class mlltter at tM Post Offi.ce atConcord, N. H. under the Act of Marcn J, 1879. Prmted in U.S.A. © 1956 by Fantasy House, 11K. Allrights, including translation into other languages, reserved. Submissions must be accompanied by stamped,sel.faddressed envelopes .. the Publisher assumes no responsibilityfor return ofunsolicited manuscripts.I. FratKis McComas, ADVISORY EDITOR; Robert P. Mills, MANAGING BDITOR; G~or-,e Slllter, ART DIRECTOR;Howard K. Pruyn, CIRCULATION MANAGER; Charles Angqff, ASSOCIATE EDITOR; Gloria UtJitllS, ASSISTANT

EDITOR; ConstatKe Di Rienzo, EDITORIAL SECRETARY

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Spaceftit>ht hy witchcraft - could any concept he more suitahle t-o ~hiJ

magazine which comhin.es (and usually refuses to classify) fantasy andscience fiction? This particular hlend of themes goes hack over three hundredyears to the SOMNIUM of Johannes Kepler, who was a shrewd enoughscien,ist to reali'{e that witchcraft was a less. improhahle method of interplanetary flight than any devicI known to the science of his day. But here,perhaps, is one occasion on which I should classify, and say that: thoughKepler s story was II fantasy framing scientific truths, Po.ul Anderson'Jfascinatingly blended and balanced tale Df a witch in a spaclship is sciencefiction - if possihly disconcerting to some idolators of science.

Super flitionhy POUL AND'ERSON

However bold, any achievement remaIns esse1itzally an adaptation toreality,· and the more excellent it is, the more it excludes other possibilities.But reality is ever-changing, not to be encompassed in a merely finitesystem, so that at last each adaptation must fail. Thus we .live with thetragic paradox that all organizations, be they biological species or humansocieties, are ultimately destroyed by t~eir own virtues.

- Oskar Haeml, Betrachtungen uberdie menschliche Verlegenheit

As HE CArvlE THROUGH THE HIGH

darkness, Martin heard them chant·ing out among the ruins. Overheadthe stars were a cold steely sprawlagainst night, far and far above him;to right and left, the mesa tumbledraggedly away from the road, witha low crescent moon glimmering offsage and stunted trees, a distant icyrise of mountains. He saw torchesflare among the hollow shells that

3

had been houses, and his heart pacedthe muttering of drums.

Equinox was near, and the Uteshad come as always to make medicine on the heights. Martin gestureda respectful sign toward the ceremony. It was taboo for him; Basefed the Indians during the dancesand shared the favor of their gods,but had its own rites.

The hoofs of his mule clopped

4

loud in chill springtime silence.Grass was thrusting up, tilting thegreat concrete blocks, gnawing awaythe road; someday there wouldonly be a rutted dirt track. ButBase endured.

Its barbed-wire barricade loomedbefore him as he rounded the bulkyofficial stonehenge. The sudden glareof electric lights in his eyes wasdazzling. Four musketeers in theleather tunics, blue trousers, andsteel helmets of Guardslnen of theOrder stood at the gate. Above themspread the sign:

UNITED STATESl\STRONAUTICAL SERVICE

COLORADO BASE

It had been newly refurbished andhung with protective co\v skulls.

"Halt!" The men slanted theirflintlocks down. One of them, ayoungster made nervous by theUte devil-masks, fingered a rabbit'sfoot; he relaxed when he saw itwas only a human on a mule ap"proaching.

Martin reined in and let themsee his .spaceman's gray coverall.He was tall and gaunt, with a sun"burned hatchet face and lank brownhair. The astronautical warpaintmade elaborate loops and jags onhis forehead. "Captain Josiah Martinreporting for Mars flight," he said.

"0h . . . oh, yes, sir." The corporal of the guard recognized himand fumbled a salute. "How's thingsin town?"

FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

Martin's mind ran back to Durango, dusty on the plain belo\vto wagon trains from as far as Mexicoand Canada, California and Wisconsin, to the one wheezy railroadbarely kept going by its wizards,to the airport with its occasionalpriestly jet, warehouses and tavernsand smithies, all the roar and bustleof a terminal on the interplanetaryline. He thought of his house,Ginny and the kids and the emptynights before them till he cameback. If he did; someday solnebody\vould make a slip, the spell \vouldn'tbe strong enough, and he wouldride a flamer down to Earth or driftforever between the stars.

But he was an initiate of theOrder, and that was enough.

"So-so," he answered aloud. "Anything new here at Baser"

"Couple 0' those Injun kids triedto sneak in. Too young to kno\vwhat taboo means. We gave 'emback to their folks for ritual cleansing and a good spanking."

"Indians don't spank their children," said Martin absently. "Butthe cleansing ought to throw ahealthy scare into them. I don'tsuppose they did any daluager"

"Nothing serious. 1"'hey camewithin a yard of the power plant, sothe ()ld Man sacrificed a dog justto be on the safe side." The corporalopened the gate. "Good luck, sir.Say hello to the girls on Mars for

"me..The spaceman rode through.

Ahead of him stretched the field,

SUPERSTITION

an enormous waste of ferro-concreterimmed with crumbling buildings.The old ones were, mostly abandoned- tradition said they had heldclerks, security personnel, vips, andother esoteric types, back in thesuperstitious days. Ritual was muchsimpler now, fewer initiates needed,so many of the steel-and-glass giantswere empty or had been torn downto make the small huts which wereall the modern age required.

Passing the barracks and themesshall, Martin saw a KP settingout a bowl of milk for the GoodFolk, and nodded approval.

The blockhouses around the firingpits were unchanged. They hadbeen built for strength alone. Hespied the enormous hulk of a StageOne looming in its gantry, the metalsid~s hurling back floodlit glare.Mechs swarmed over it, makingthe final checks and spells, renewingthe potent Eagle sign etched andpainted o~ the hull.

The nuclear ship proper, Phobos,was dwarfed by the Stage One, outof \vhose mouth she reached likea little steel fish half swallowed by ashark.

Martin rode around the field,toward the astrologer's tower. Thiswas one of the few ancient buildingsstill in use, a leaping immensitywhose glass-bricked lower wall wasa cold green shimmer in the light.He dismounted outside, turning hismule over to an attendant, and\valked into the lobby.

The girl at the newsstand smiled

5

at him. "Hi, Captain," she said."What'll it be tonight?"

"Oh . . . make it the usual.Twenty bucks. I don't think I'llneed more than standard luck thistrip." He signed the chit and received the token. A good deal of aspaceman's pay went for sacrifices.

The warlock at the dispatcher'soffice took his corban and admittedhim. He washed his hands, prostrated himself before the orrery,and danced seven times widdershinsabout it intoning the laws of Keplerand the elements of Earth's andMars' orbits. The miniature planetsspun flickering in stillness, only thefaint noise" of clockwork was likedistant laughter.

Making another prostration, Mattin backed out of the office andwent upstairs. The astrologer's labwas on the second floor, and half adozen young apprentices, earnestin their zodiacal robes, were workingout Earth-Wheelstar paths for thecoming year on a big computer.Their chief, Major Savage,- stoodlooking out of the window at thespacefield.

"Oh ... good evening, captain."He turned around. There was aghost of worry on the bearded face."You're late."

"The railroad train had brokendown across the road," apologizedMartin. "I had to wait till theycould get it started again."

"Mmm .. ". yes. Glad you did.""Why - \vhat else was there to

do?"

6

"Some of the boys are prettyreckless. They'd go around thetrain. It'd never occur to them thata Power might have stalled thething right there for the purposeof holding up traffic."

Martin shook his head. Spacemenlearned to be careful.

Of course, the Power could havedone it for malignant reasons, butit could just as well be benevolent.Perhaps the delay had kept himfrom an accident he would otherwise have had. On the whole, youwere better off taking signs at facevalue.

Savage glanced at the clock."Your omens were only fair, butnothing to be alarmed about. You'llblast off at midnight if the weatherholds. I'll have to check with thehomunculus on that; there's a coldfront moving down from Wyoming,and you know what a sudden strongwind can do to foul a takeoff. ButI think it's all okay." He lit acigaret with nervous yello\\ty-stainedfingers.

"Usual crew, I reckon?""Well- Not exactly. You've got

Dykman and Peralta on enginesas before, but a new witch and -"

"What happened to Juliet?"Savage grinned, half exasperated.

"What d'you think? In two weeksshe'll be Mrs. Geoffrey Roberts."

"Maybe love does make theworld go 'round," drawled Martin,"but it sure makes it tough keepinga good witch."

"Fortunately," said Savage, "CoI-

FANTASY Al"D SCIENCE FICTION

orado Springs Coven had just graduated a new girl with honors, so Iswore her in fast before some otheroutfi t should ge t her. Valeria Janosek, age eighteen."

"Eighteen? That's pretty old fora \vitch to start."

"She began late. I understand herpeople were immigrants from theGreat Lakes Thalassocracy or theKingdom of Upper Michigan orsome such place. Old Believers, soshe \vas all of twelve before theCoven persuaded her to join. Butshe's got the l:>ower all right, andshould have thirty useful years inher. "

"Nuts! If she's not a beast, she .won't stay celibate that long. Well,the Lord giveth and the Lord takethaway. Isn't Rogers going to besupercargo?' ,

"Sorry, no. His kid was sick,and to cure the boy he had to takea geas. No space flight this year.You've got one Philip Hall."

Martin raised his brows. "f\nyrelation to the Boss?"

"Nephew." Savage tugged hisbeard unhappily. "He's going togive trouble, I'm afraid. He's beenstudying at Boulder - good physicsdepartment, but you kno\v \\,hata hotbed of Old Believers the place_is. Seems to have blotted up somecrazy notions of theirs . . ." Hisvoice trailed off.

Grimness lay on Marti~'s mouth."I'll ride herd-on him. Once \ve'reunder weigh, I'm the final authority. "

SUPERSTITION

"Take it easy, though. He isa Hall, and you don't get rough witha nephew of the Boss of Colorado."

"I've got a ship and a cargo andfive lives to get through. No halfbaked kid is going to ignore the regswhile I'm captain."

Savage puffed his cigaret andlooked away, into the electric night.He'd tried to discourage the boy;but family pressure-

The Order had the spiritualpower, and Base was the seat of theOrder. But the Boss had the cannonand cavalry. Someday there wasgoing to be a showdown betweenthe temporal and ghostly authorities.

Savage hoped it wouldn,'t come inhis lifetime.

He went over the flight plan withMartin. It would be a short andthunderous hop up to the Wheelstar, a brief preparation there, acceleration, and the weeks-long orbiting to Mars. All known meteorswarms were safely off the path, butyou could never be sure.

They went into the darkenedoffside room where the homunculuslay. Pale-blue idiot eyes looked upat them out of a swollen head.Savage performed the needful rites,and a weary voice told them thestorm wouldn't arrive till 013°.Then: "Go away. Wake me not."The thing slipped back into mindlessness.

Having settled the technical details, Martin crossed over to theready room for briefing. His crew

7

were there, and he stood for a moment in the door, considering them.

The engineers he knew:- stolidblond Dykman, dark little Peralta,g~ sober spacehands. SupercargoLieutenant Philip Hall was a slenderhandsome youth, light curly hairabove a pale taut countenance.Witch lie Valeria Janosek wasmore of a surprise.

Martin had expected the usualthin, twitching frame and hungryeyes of a Power vessel. Valeria hada beautiful _.build on her, a highcheeked straight-nosed hazel-eyedface, a subdued manner but a ruddyshout of hair falling to her shoulders.She sat calmly under the admiringglances of her shipmates.

Either the Power was veiy weakin her - and Savage had sworn itwas not - or she had mastered it sowell that she could be a wholehuman as well as a Covener. If thehitter were true, she was ideal;the hysterics of the ordinary witch

-were a major hazard of space travel.But a good-looking non-neuroticwas unlikely to remain celibate verylong.

Heigh-ho. You can't win.Martin went to the desk as they

rose. "In the name of AlmightyGod' and the Powers He has seenfit to give. charge of this galaxywell met," he intoned. "We aregathered for briefing ere we venturepast the sky to Mars. Let noneremain with us whose hands andheart are not clean, who has eaten·forbidden food or done forbidden

8

deeds, and who is not at peace withthe Elementals. But that man andthat woman who are clean and fit,them shall the Powers ward, hereand between the stars and on all\vorlds, even unto the end of time.Search your souls, all spacefarers,be 'sure you are prepared, that youhave your talismans and have madeyour sacrifices and are guilty of notransgression for \vhich penance hasnot been done."

They proceeded carefully throughthe ritual, slaughtering a blackrooster \vhich a technician broughtand sprinkling the blood in the\vitch-bowl. Martin caught the scornof young Hall;. it was all the boycould do to go through \vith thepasses and responses. ,raleria \\'asalso giving the youth some worriedglances.

At the close of the session, shechecked their .obeahs and tattoos."All iOn order, sir." She saluted Martin crisply.

"Then come," he said. "The"'heelstar awaits."

Briefing over, they relaxed formality, shook hands all around andhad a final smoke together. Martinstrolled over to Hall, where thelatter stood gazing out the windowat the field.

"First trip, isn't .it, / son?" heasked.

Hall nodded. "Yes, sir." I-fis voicewas strained. ·

"Nothing to be scared of. It'sall in order, every word said andevery demon battened dqwn tight.

FANTASY ANU SCIENCE FICTION

All you have to do is tend our.tobacco on the way out and theMartian gan-drug on the way home."

Sweat was a film on the unlinedforehead. "Are you sure it's allright?' How about the - the physical side of it? How well do thosemechs know their business?"

"Damn well, son. It's been checkeddown to .the last gasket, and everyman had the relevant volume ofthe Books beside him as he worked.Why, they replace the hydr~zine

valves after every blast just onprinciple, whether the.y look bador not, and that in spite of whatthose Durango artisans charge."

Hall tried not to shudder as heregarded the monstrous Stage One."We have to ride up on that? 'Vhena nuclear engine is so simple andfoolproof?" /'

"We'll go on nuclear froln theWheelstar. "

"\Vhy not from Earth?"Martin held out two fingers

against evil. "That's taboo," he saidsharply. "Haven't you learned yourArs Thaumaturgica?

"Curses harshly long and cruelif thoil use ato1nic fuelere thou'rt safe beyond the air:burnt-out eyes and shedded hair,deadly sickness in the nations,tnonsters in three generations!"Hall nodded, stiffly. "I've heard

it. I am an initiate, captain. Butdo you know why that rule exists?"

,'Certainly. It's an elementaryexample of sympathetic principles.

'" The sun and stars belong in the sky.

SUPERSTITIO~

Nuclear reactions go on in the sunand stars. Therefore nuclear reactions belong in the sky. Q.E.D."

"Ever hear of radioactivity?"Martin made another V. "Who

hasn't? Best not to talk of suchInatters, son."

"No," said Hall bitterly. "Don'teven think about it. Do~'t try todesign a firing pit that makes it safeto use an atomic blast. Just go on inthe old \vay, because we're scaredto find out anything ne\\'."

"They tried a lot of stuff back inthe Dark Ages. Hadn't learned theproper rituals, I reckon. So naturallythe Elementals broke loose, andyou got \var, fatuine, plague, breakdown . . . '" c kno\v better in themodern 'age." Martin knocked outhis pipe and looked at his watch.~'Time to sashay along, folks."

.t\t the door\vay, a wizard 3/Chanded hilTI his copy of the Book:~,-1strogator's Manual and Ephel11erides,\vith its tooled-leather binding andits illulninated tables of logarithms.I-Ie took it respectfully under hisann and led the \vay to the Phobos.

Stage One blasted, thundercrashed through the midnight mesaand the Utes made good-luck medicine. There \vas a close magical as\\'ell as commercial relation betweenthem and the white man. Theirdances assured the annual returnof the seasons (or, in Base theory,that Earth stayed safely on herorbit). The ships of the Orderbrought hack useful products that

9

could only grow on Mars or \!cnus- such as gan-drug, which whenproperly mixed with snakeskins andgraveyard herbs cured the BleedingSickness that the carelessness of theancients had unleashed.

Up the ship rose, flinging herselfinto the sky on flame. A~ twohundred miles altitude, the exhausted Stage One shell dropped off.The Phobos rose another fifty mileson momentum, after \vhich Martinused a short nuclear blast to get intoorbit for the Wheelstar.

Stage One tUlnbled back towardr~arth. Its parachute bloomed whiteagainst indifferent stars, and it fellin leisurely fashion along a pathmade unpredictable by stratosphericwinds. Base could have tracked itwith radar or hOlnunculus, butdidn't bother; there weren't men orresources available to fetch it, soother arrangements had been made.Nearing the ground, it fired off astar shell, and then crunched sagebrush beneath its mass.

The burst was seen by a Navahosheepherder who swore in exasperation; but he knew the geas, and dulyinformed his chief next morning.The chief was not very happy aboutit either, and inspected the rockethimself. Yes - it bore the Eaglesign, with blighting curses for allwho failed to return it to Base. Thechief got men and wagons, andtrekked seventy miles with the unwieldy thing. His own people benefitted by what the Order brought toEarth, but he would never have

10

taken the trouble except for thesure knowledge that disobediencemeant ruin, barren herds and sickness in the hogans.

The Phobos came smoothly in tothe Wheelstar and clamped fast.The station gang emerged to pumpreaction mass into her tanks. Theywere shorthanded~p here, and Martiil.had to help with the ceremonies:sympathetic magic in which theship's Book was moved across amap from Earth to Mars while theequations of a 1350 orbit were recited. The rest of his crew had timeoff.

Spacesuited, Hall and Valeriawalked around the Wheelstar. Itsspoked circumference rotated, ponderous and quiet, they needed theboots which a warlock artisan hadmagnetized and chanted over. Thisplace was loaded with mana; ifyou didn't always keep one footagainst it, you were flung into space- "down" was radially away fromthe cabins at the hub.

Earth hung huge and beautifulbefore their eyes, aurora streamingabout the white North Pole, bandsof cloud and storm, the dark massof continents. Even as they watched,the Wheelstar moved around tillthe desolated wilderness of theEastern Hemisphere was visible.They could see the great lifelessareas, ashen leper-spots ,against thegreen and brown of uncursed land.

The girl's face was tinted blue bythe Earth-glow, but was not lessgood to look on. Behind the glassy


helmet, she stared in awe. "It wasworth it," she said at last. "It wasworth living with the Coven, tocome here."

"Are they that bad?" asked Hall.Her voice was tinny in the radio:

"No. They're all right - the girlsare rather odd, they're apt to throwfits and so on, but no harm is meant.Some of the rituals scared me,though. And then living in thatcastle on Pike's Peak, with all thebats -" Her tone snapped off, halffrightened. "I can't say more."

Hall spoke slowly, not wanting toantagonize her: "I don't really seewhy you joined the Coven, I'm toldyour people are Old Believers.,"

"Yes. I hated to hurt them. Butthe recruiting sergeant showed mesome of the spells . . . and he wasright! He explained the modernspirit to me. I -" She was lookingat him, as if pleading to be understood. "I couldn't see living in thepast, hanging on to obsolete superstitions. It was so futile. I. wantedto be part of the world and it5work.". Hall felt a twisting within him

self. "Do you really think this . . .thaumaturgy ... is something new?"

"Oh, no, of course not. We hadclasses in history. They said it wasthe First Way, the one in whichman became man. But then duringthe Dark Ages people got misled.They thought everything could bedone by engines and - There wereonly a few who kept the truth alive,secret Covens, hex doctors in Penn-

SUPERSTITION

sylvania, voodoo priests in Haiti. . . that sort. People as a wholehad to discover through sufferingthat their own beliefs were false;then they turned back to the FirstWay."

Hall nodded jerkily. His voicecame fast : "You have the rightfacts, Val, but the wrong interpretation. The truth is this. Even inthe age of science, there was alwaysa substratum of ignorance and irrationality ; the man who flew ajet faster than sound very oftencarried "a good-luck charm, and soon. When the War came, and civilization went smash, the educatedpeople - who concentrated in thecities - suffered most; the backwardcountrymen survived in larger numbers. Add to that the anti-scientificreaction, and you very naturallygot a belief in witchcraft \vinninggeneral acceptance. Since then, it'sbeen a rnatter of elaborating thatbelief, rationalizing it - but it'sstill superstition!"

He heard her suck in a shockedbreath. "Phil! You don't reallymean that!"

"I sure as hell do." The throttledanger of a decade boiled up in him."1 certainly do, and I'm going tosay it if it costs me my life."

"But how - Phil, can't you see?""I can. In fact, I believe in using

IllY own eyes, rather than takingsomebody else's word. They have apretty complete scientific libraryat Boulder: not just those howto-do-i,t .manuals that pass for science

I I

today, but fundamental knowledge,the history and philosophy ofscienceitself. I went through all I could find.I did some of the experiments, andthey worked -"

"Of course they did." Her eyeswidened in puzzlement. "Whyshouldn't they? The ancient magicwas pretty potent."

"Dalnn it, it isn't magic! It's ...it's the nature of things!"

She shook her head, the long hairswirling in its glazed cage. "Thingsare what they are. I don't see whatyou're so worked up about. It'sin the nature of things that anoscillatory circuit should generateradio waves, just as it's in the natureof things that a rain dance bringsrain."

"But suppose you hold the danceand no rain comes?" he challenged.

"Why, then there was some counter-influence, of course."

"That's it." There was a demanding harshness in his tone. "Youalways cover up, explain away.There isn't any method to disproveyour ideas about magic - so they'remeaningless."

A friendly mockery curved herlips. "Suppose your radio circuitfails to work?" she asked.

"Then there's something wrongwith it."

"Exact\yf So where's the difference?"

"Just this: I can find out what'swrong, and correct it."

"If a rain dance fails," she toldhim, "the chief \varlock investi-

12

gates, finds out what he thinks was'amiss, makes amends, and holdsanother dance. Sooner or later, helocates the cure and the dance doeswork. As for you, Lieutenant Hall,I don't think your radio alwaysgets fixed on the first try I"

He looked at her with somethingclose to wildness. "I've been throughthis - before," he said between histeeth. "There's only one way tofight it. On this voyage, I'm goingto prove to you that no magic isneeded to make the trip safely."

.' Shock held her unstirring. TheWheelstar spun slowly through acold silence. "No," she said at last."If you endanger the ship, I'll haveto report you."

He said, almost pleading: "You'retoo ... fine a girl, to live withowls and bats, or go to those filthySabbats. I want to end. it for - you,as well as everyone alive."

She made no answer, but walkedfrom him. Earth loomed behindher, big and scarred.

Perhaps it was,only Hall's heresy,but Valeria had an uneasy feelingabout this voyage. She thumbedthrough her books and sacrificed acockroach - the ship could carry nolarger animal; even her Siamesefamiliar must stay at home - butthe truth remained hiddeI!.

That was the trouble with second'sight, she thought bleakly. It wasalways unreliable, more art thanthaumaturgy. A creepy sense mightbe authentic forevision or might

-, FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

only be an upset stomach. Thewildest and trickiest of the Elementals were those which governedthe Timeflow.

And there was a dreadful weightof responsibility for such a youngpair of shoulders. It was more thanIives and cargo; the ship herself wasbeyond price. It took the artisansten years to replace a lost spaceship.

Not for the first time, she cursedthe blind greed of the Dark Ages.If they had not drunk petroleum inrivers, gutted the ores and gulpedthe coal, men would not now have toride on horse and oxcart in a painfulsearch after the necessities. If theyhad saved forests and topsoil andwater tables, the world would notbe a thin crust of civilization, afew sharded sovereignties in theWestern Hemisphere, above a gapeof starveling savagery. If they hadnot hurled nuclear thunderbolts,there would be no Cursed Craterswhere death stilliaired, no BleedingSickness or generations of monsters.

Well - they hadn't known anybetter. Not the least of their superstitions had been .that man wasall-powerful and could always escapethe consequences of his own acts.It was the task of the modern age torebuild.

She donned her uniform, theblack dress and peaked hat, took aforked willow twig in hand, andwent down the length of the Phobos.From the small control cabin whereCaptain Martin sat unresting, pastthe cramped wardroom and its cur'"

SUPERSTITION

tained bunks, the gyro housing andair-water plants, to the engine room,she made her way.

At one gravity acceleration, Earth,vas dropping behind and Mars wasa sullen red star near the blindingsun.

The twig remained quiescent tillshe· entered the engine section.'rhere it twisted in her hands. Shefelt the queer mindless tension ofrising Po\ver, surrendered soul to it,and let the dowser have its way.Return to consciousness and theengineers' worried eyes was like~wim.ming up through a dark rushIng river.

"Potential neutron leakage here."She pointed to the after bulkheadand its shuddering dials. "Not im..minent, but you better prevent itnow."

Peral ta sighed with relief andtapped a jug of holy water - deu..terium oxide. Valeria said the spellsover it while Dykman was assembling a patch plate. It fitted neatly,the holy water was poured into it,the neutrons would bounce backwhen they elnerged.

"All clear." The girl smiled."Ship's OK otherwise." She did notmention' her forebodings.

Dykman shuffled his feet. "Whatdo you think of our supercargo?"he asked.

"Why -" Valeria paused. "Heseems like - a nice guy." Irration...ally, in the teeth of all evidence,she thought he was the nicest guyshe had yet known.

13

"I \vonder, Val. I don't like to sayanything against a shipmate, but... well, damn it -'.

"What we want to know," saidPeralta bluntly, "is whether hisopinions are likely to be dangerous."

"Oh ... he's been talking toyou, too? I don't think so. He'sentitled to his beliefs, right orwrong."

"Yes, but as I understand thetheory, belief is important - sympathetic effect. His opinions mayact to nullify our spells."

An anger she could not explain toherself chilled the witch's reply:"I'm the judge of that."

"Oh, sure, sure," said Peralta."No offense meant, Val. I. onlywanted your professional analysis."

"You have it." She went haughtily out of the room.

1"1he ship thrummed around her,lancing through a night of stars andempty distance. She felt a naggingguilt. In all honesty, it was entirelypossible tha t counter-belief had acounter-effect; one of the Covenprofessors had entertained a hypothesis that this was why magic hadworked so ill in the Dark Ages.

But she couldn't be sure. And themere suspicion might make the captain order that Hall be pitched outthe airlock.

She saw him emerging from thecargo hatch and paused. His facelit up, boyishly. "Where've youbeen?" he asked.

"On duty. And you too, I suppose." \Vhy did her heart flutter?

14

Hall nodded. "Have to turn thattobacco over every watch, or it'slikely to start molding. I wish wehad decent fungicides."

"What are they?""Hm? Oh ... chemicals to kill

the mold. ,,'"But mold is a curse," she pro"

tested. "A curse of dark Powers.That's why sunlight- and fresh airprevent it."

A lopsided grin twitched hismouth. "Have it your way. But inthe old days they 'sprayed theircrops-"

"I know. And thus protectedweakly stock, rather than breedstrains which could resist. And ateand drank the poisons themselves,with no real proof that the amountwas harmless to them."

"There were mistakes made,"he agreed. "But nothing whichcouldn't have been corrected intime. And men spread over Earth;and every man - not just a warlockor a priest or a Boss - rode behindengines instead of horses; and Marsand Venus were colonized; andnature was man's slave."

Valeria stamped her foot. "Sothey thought!" she said. "Theythought they could chain nature,their mother, even the nature withinthemselve~They tbought they couldfight, and mine, and erode, andbreed without limit - science wasbound to solve the problems thatarose, oh, yes. They thought thatman was a" chosen race and exemptfrom n'aturallaw -"


"Not at all!" Hall's eyes burnedwith a missionary eagerness. "Itwas precisely by understanding thelaws of nature that they couldcontrol her. It's this age which hascrept back into ignorance."

"In other words," she said thinly,"the laws of physics are all the lawsof nature there are?" ,

"Why ... yes. Ultimately, phenomena reduce to-"

She whirled and stalked down thecorridor, the long black dress flowingabout her. When she had reachedthe sanctuary of her bunk, shedrew the curtain and lay there andwept.

She didn't know why. But thePower within a human heart actsstrangely.

On orbit, the Phobos cut blastand let the sun's invisible arm swingher toward Mars.

Weightlessness was an eerie thing,like endless falling, and Hall wasmiserably sick till he got used to it.For Valeria it was also ne\v, but awitch had enough self"mastery notto be troubled. Nevertheless, Martinobserved how she moped about.

He was inclined to shrug it off.Female Coveners were a peculiarlot, and she was better than mosthe'd lifted with. Typically, a witchwas an arrogant hag or a skinny girlat the obnoxious nadir of adolescence; frustration and the nerve"tighteriing forces they worked withmade them poor (ompany.

There were always small jobs

SUPERSTITION

aboard, puttering, repair and Inaintenance, the ship was deliberatelybuilt to keep men busy. Betweentimes, they had their amusements,books and games. Hall turned outto be an excellent poker player.

Martin found himself liking theboy. Hall was careful to hold hisfamily connections in the background and ask no special favors;he was going to space because of agenuine desire to travel. If at timeshe was sulky and withdrawn, thatwas his privilege.

In fact, the only objection to himwas the superstition h~ had absorbedat Boulder. He'd never make aspaceman till he unlearned that.

It ,,'as customary for the skipperto ipstruct and rehearse a juniorofficer in the art. Hall was an aptpupil, with quite a flair for mathematics; mechanically speaking, he,vas excellent. But on the ri tual -

Martin decided, a week out, tobring matters to a head.

They were in the pilot rooIn, anarrow chamber stuffed with instruments and controls, a periscopefor viewing the outside. Hall hadjust torn down and reassembled theradar under Martin's eye - no easytask in null-gee. "You'll do, son,"said the captain.

Hall looked up unsurely. "Isn'tit dangerous?" he asked. "I mean,not to have the radar going while\\Te're on orbit."

"What in the Black Name for?You use your radar to help you ap'"proach a Wheelstar, that's all."

I5

. "But Ineteors - Look, the spaceships in the old days had a radarsweep hooked to an autopilot. Whenit spotted a meteor coming, itactivated the blast and got out ofthe way."

"That was the theory," saidMartin dryly. "In practice, youcan't detect a meteor at sufficientdistance to fix its orbit accurately.So the ship would make unnecessaryswerves, use up her reaction mass,maybe not have enough for deceleration. These quick-transit paths,like our own right now, save timebut waste fuel; maybe you don'tknow what a narrow safety marginwe have. So it's a lot more practicalto let your witch use her foresightand warn you hours ahead of time."

Hall exploded. His fist came downon the recoil chair's arm. Since hehad neglected to keep a knee bentaround the stanchion, he went cartwheeling in to the air. Martinlaughed, reached out, and drewhim back.

"Take it easy, son," he advised."But - damn and blast it! You

mean we're actually trusting ourlives to a hysterical woman'shunches?"

"Don't slander your shipmates,"said Martin sharply. Then, seekingtact: "After all, the probabilitiesare on our side. I admit foresightdoesn't always work, but the chancesof getting clipped by a rock aresmall anyway."

"I know," said Hall in a harshtone. "I know that. But I also

16

kno\v that computer research couldgive us a radar-pilot system whichwould, really do the job. And nobody's undertaking the research!.~'

"Matter of economics," shruggedMartin. "Let's say that failure offoresight costs us one ship a century- ten years' work by highly skilledmen. Under present conditions,where precision tools are so scarce,it'd take maybe three years to buildsuch a computer for each ship ...quite apart from the time and brainswhich the initial research wouldtie up, and which are needed elsewhere.

"Thanks to those lunatics backin the Dark Ages, man's living ona mighty small margin. Someday\ve'll rebuild and have a big surplus:but meanwhile we have to strugglealong with what we've got. Andanyway, by that time foresightshopld be well enough understoodto make your computer unnecessary."

The frankness in the blue eyesbefore him was of anger. "So yousay! You and your witless faith!What was it-pulled man out of thecaves? Magic? Subconscious maunderings identified with revelationor foresight? Hell, no! It was working with, understanding and controlling, the real world!"

"Of course it was," said Martin.UI've studied history too, for yourinforlnation. The first men to chartthe stars were Babylonian astrologers. The Greeks developed geometry because number and relation


were sacred things. The alchemistslearned a lot about matter. European witches cured dropsy \vithtoadskins, and South American medicine men discovered quinine."

"That's beside the point!" stormedHall. "This ship couldn~t have beenbuilt by ... by magic. It couldonly have designed by a sciencewhich had discarded superstition."

"Well . . . let's say a sciencewhich made simplifying assumptions, thereby cutting the problemdown to a size men of that epochcould handle. But the assumptionswere obviously false."

"False? They were verified byobservation!"

"Yeah? How about Newton's lawof inertia? Pure fiction: there is andcan be no body in the universemoving only by its own inertia.There are always forces, resistingmedia - For that matter, \vhat isthis energy the physics books talkabout? Kinetic energy is motion,potential energy is position; butboth position and motion are relative. How can any sane man believeenergy is an absolute quantitywhen he can't possibly find a zeropoint?~ "Energy, inertia, entropy, force- all the basic concepts of physics- they're mathematical constructswhich give useful results. Identifying those equations with reality ismighty bad semanti~s."

Martin stopped, wishing he couldtamp his pipe and blow dogmaticclouds; but-

SUPERSTITION

Spaceships, run by demon Fire,swiftly feel the demon's ire.Light no flame aboard the boatlest smother'd Air's ghost gripthy throat.

"Oh, you're glib enough," saidHall bitterly. "You know how touse an ephemerides or an ellipticfunction. But do you understandthem? I doubt it. You don't see thatthe philosophy which created themdenied your magical folderol."

"So it did," said Martin levelly."And it was wrong, of course.""But - damn it, witchcraft doesn'twork!" .

"The hell it don't, son. Everyyear the Utes make medicine tokeep Earth on her orbit; and Earthstays there. Use your common sense."

"But you're arguing post hoc.In the old days, they didn't havethose dances, and Earth still-"

"Oh, but they did. There werealways backward tribes, so-called,hex doctors, witch-wives; there wasalways a little ritual, at least."

"How about the ages before therewere any men?"

"That's been argued about. I incline to the will-oE-God theory myself. God made man intelligent andturned over a lot of responsibility tohim."

"But -""Look. What's the test of truth

- the only test we have? Isn't itwhether a concept works? Whetherit gives the results it's supposedto?"

"Yes, of course. But-""So Base is taboo to non-initiates.

They could meddle around with. . . oh, say a hydrazine tank andblow us all to Sathanas.

"So I dance around the orreryreciting astronomical equations. Result: I know them cold.

"So it's taboo to use nuclearblasts on Earth. You ought to knowthose blasts can be deadly.

"So a Stage One bears a hex sign.It compels whoever finds it, to return it to us. We can't build a newStage One for every flight - wehave to have them backl

"So people in general go throughthe rites, and observe the Law, andabide by the taboos. It gives thema sense of security; we don't havethe unrest and the incidence of demoni~c possession - I reckon you'dcall it psychosis - they did in theDark Ages. It keeps them in line,orders society as iociety has got tobe ordered if it's to function without

__ needing all the police and restrictivegovernment they had in the past.It keeps people out of trouble: theymay not know about radiation, mostof 'em being illiterate, but they doknow the Cursed Craters are for...bidden. It makes them believe inthe hex doctor, and belief is a bighelp in curing them.

"No, no, son. Magic·works. Yousee it working every day of yourlife."

Hall leaned forward, triumphantly. His forefinger stabbed atthe captain's chest. "Ah, hahl I've

18

got you now! You're admitting thatany value the rites have is merelypragmatic."

"No, I'm not," said Martin. "I'mjust pointing out that there is apragmatic, everyday usefulness ...which is more than you can say formost of the Dark Age concepts.Besides this, of course, there's thematter of natural law. For instance,we catry a witch on every ship no'tjust to reassure us, though selfconfidence is important, but to-"

Hall shoved from his chair, violently, and went sailing out the exit.Martin stared after him. A worriedfrown grew bet\veen the captain'sbrows.

Similarity - Burn a man's photograph, and the man dies unless hehas counter-spells. Believe you haveforesight, and often you will have.Believe you are in a ship of madmen doomed by their own lunacies,and you may well generate doom.

Martin knew what would happento him if he sent the Boss' nephewout the airlock. But he kne\v, as\vell, what nzight happen if he didn't.

Grimly, he weighed the probabilities.

Philip H~ll went hurtling downthe corridor andgulping for air.The thunder of his heart drownedthe noise of ventilators, the millionmiles of loneliness vanished in hisrage.

Blindness!Always it had been there, the

immemorial muttering current of


Stone Age superstition. Don't breakmirrors. Don't walk under ladders.Carry a rabbit's foot. Nail a horseshoe over your door. Turn back if ablack cat crosses y<;>ur path. Maybethe captain was right in one sense:maybe man was by nature a huddlerin the dark, maybe reason was onlya thin precarious membra"ne rippedapart by the first gust of fear.

They had come out of the caves,out of roadless mountains and tumbledown huts and tropical jungles,witches and warlocks spilling acrossthe world. Science was smashed anddiscredited, the half-melted snag ofa skyscraper stood against smokingheaven like a grisly question mark,there was no faith left in the wolves'den which Earth had become. Smallwonder that bats should flutter aboutthe heads of witches, Covens meeton high hills, blessings and blastingschant from \vithered lips; stTIall wonder that· the race had turned backto its first beliefs.

But in God's natTIe, now they hadrebuilt; however small and weak,civilization existed again. Ho\v couldthey recreate what their ancestorshad owned without the rationalminds of those mighty dead? Whatwould they ever be but barbarianstill someone had lifted the nightfrom their brains?

He saw Valeria afloat near herbunk, looking blank-eyed into nothing. Weightless, her skirt driftedabout trim streaming legs. The furycongealed within him, hardened and

. cooled to a brittle crystalline mold.

SUPERSTITION 19

"Val," he said. them down." A hand'fell shyly onThe coppery head turned to his, his. "Don't be sorry for me, Phil.

hazel eyes focused and a small star- Witchdom has its compensations."tIed smile tilted her lips. "Oh . . . "Do you mean always to-"hello, Phil." "Oh, probably not~ I'll doubtless

"What were you thinking of?" be getting married eventually, if thehe asked awkwardly. right man comes along." She didn't

"Never mind." Color stained the meet his eyes.pale smooth cheeks. "Now there," he gibed, "is one

"I'ln afraid -" He stopped, hunt- example of ridiculousness. Whying for words. "I'm afraid I just had should a biological incidental likea run-in with the skipper." virginity determine whether you

She bit her lip. "You should be have the Power or not?"more careful, Phil. I can't counter- "It's not exactly an incidentalact your influence all the time." ... ask any woman: You might as

"What influence?" He grinned well ask why it should determinesourly. "I'm making no converts, whether 1 have children or not."if that's what you're thinking of." They were drifting free, moving

"It isn't. It's your ... state of slowly on air currents in aTh emptymind. I've been having ugly dreams; wardroom. The hex symbols coverI hope they aren~t forerunners." ing the walls spun in the man's

"And it's my fault?" He felt vision as he turned. Somehow, ita slumping. "I'm sorry. I - don't was a dream, this floating in stillnesswant to worry you." \va$" not altogether real, and-

"Well ... maybe it's no doing And in a dream-of yours anyho\v. Maybe we've run He pulled her to him, roughly,into bad medicine regardless." The and kissed her.girl shivered. "Sometimes I wish . He felt how she stiffened. Then'I'd never joined the Coven. It isn't he.r struggle sent them awhirl in thealways easy." air, caroming off wall and floor with

He wanted to spit. His fists gath- a brutal force. She clawed after hisered at his side. "It's not right," he eyes and he let her go, appalled atmumbled. "I've seen enough witches the savagery. She drifted from him... poor scared kids, tormented by shuddering and crying.their own t\visted nerves . . . and He pushed against a stanchion andnow you." arced toward her. "I'm sorry," he

"There are always those \vhose said frantically. "I didn't know-"\vork is hard," she answered gravely. Through shaking hands, she an"Even in those old days you're so swered: "There's a d-death penaltyromantic about, there must have for that ... molesting a, a, a witchbeen people whose occupations wore on orbit -"

20

Strength drained from him, hehung soul-naked while the hungryvacuum pressed close to the hullaround.

"No," he said. "Not for ... Ididn't -"

"I . . . oh . . . I \V-\v-\von't report you ... but-"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "ItVal, will you marry me? When weget back to Earth, will you marry

?"me."You s-s-s-superstttious oafl" she

gasped. "You blundering idiot!"Something like pride chilled, in

him. "Go ahead," he said dully. "Iwon't hide behind your skirts. Goahead and report me. I suppose it'sregulations you should."

She nodded. Her voice came muffled, where she wept into her hands."It is. But I ... can't." With apuppet-like jerk of one arm: "Goaway! Go away and leave me alone!"

He was halfway down the corridorwhen he heard her scream.

They gathered in the wardroom,four men clamping fear behind theirfaces, and looked at her.

"You're sure?" asked Martin.Valeria nodded. H'er eyes were

red, but she spoke in a steady monotone: "Yes. There's no mistakingthat kind of foresight."

"A meteor swarm," said Martin."A meteor swarm on a collision orbit, an hour away."

Silence was thick between them,"Can we dodge it?" asked Peralta."Oh, yes," said the girl joylessly.


"It's a big swarm, but fifteen minutes at full acceleration would get us.out of its path."

"And then \ve'd have to get backon orbit," said Martin. "We wouldn't have enough reaction mass leftto brake at Mars."

Dykman turned pqnderously inthe air. Small light eyes burned atHall. "I t's your doing," he said."You brought this on us."

"I never -" Hall raised his hands,as if to fend off a blow.

"Oh, yes, you did. You and yoursuperstitions. They nullified ourwarding spells. What are the chancesagainst this happening by accident,captain?"

"Mighty big," said Martin."Mighty big."

"Out the airlock!" It was a shriekfrom Peralta.

Hall felt the bulkhead solid at hisback. He lifted his fists and said bet\veen his teeth: "Because a hysterical female thinks we're running intodanger, you'd kill a man. Well, comeon and try it!"

Grayness rode Martin's voice:"Shut up there. Val, would executing him affect our chances?"

"No," she said. "It's too late"now.

Martin regarded her for a longmoment. "Is that the truth, or areyou co.vering up for the boy?"

"I'm the witch here, skipper!" sheflared.

He nodded, as if tired out. "Okay.Okay, I'll take your word for it.'We're all in this together. It mighr

SUPERSTITION

not be P-hil's fault anyhow. Couldjust as well be a slip-up at Base, or aforeign warlock, or - Val, is thereanything we can do?"

She hung unmoving while a clockhand swept out a full minute. Itmight have been a century.

"It's an old comet with a verylong-period orbit," she said then."That's why it's never been en.countered before." Her eyes closed,and her face tautened with strain,and she spoke as if from lightyearsaway. "There are about a hundredboulder-sized meteors and a lot ofcosmic g-ravel. We can dodge the bigones-"

"But the gravel! It can punchmore holes in the ship than \ve couldever patch."

"Perhaps," she said, "I can handlethe gravel."

Hall let her open a vein in _hiswrist and take blood from him asshe did from the others. The rest ofher preparation was done in secret;he caught a reek of acrid herbs andheard her chanting in some sawedged language unknown to him.

"Strap in," said Martin curtly.He led the girl to the pilot room

and buckled her into a recoil chair.Her hair floated red and wild abouta head which had become a mask ofotherness. Her hands were smearedwith blood; she gripped an ivorywand between them and moved itabout with strange precision for onewhose eyes were shut.

"Take your seat," she whispered.

21

Martin strapped in and rested hisfingers .on the controls. Straythoughts drifted through his skull:Ginny and the children, a tree theyhad in their back yard, a farewellparty to which all their friends hadcome. It was a broad and lovelyworld he had, and bitter to leave itfor an unknown darkness.

Her incantation mumbled forth.Abaddon, Samiel, Ba'al Zebub, BeliYa'ai, all great horned spirits aid us.

"The gyros," she breathed. "Alpha, zero zero three . . . Beta, onezero two . . . Gamma, as is . . .set for thirty-second half-blast-"The ship spun about the axles of thewhickering wheels. "Go!"

Thunder and shri~king ~rupted

about them. A troll's hand thrustthem back into the chairs. Thenthere was again silence and falling.

Martin put his eyes to the periscope hood. He saw one of themeteors, miles away, sunlight wanoff its pocked face. Suddenly it hadhu~tled pas-t, thunderbolt withoutVOIce.

"Alpha, five zero one ..•Gamma, zero three three . . . tensecond quarter-blast . . . Go!"

There was a haziness across thehard unwinking stars, a million anda million planetary shards. No biggerthan his 'thumbnail, but at theirspeed-

"We're clear of the meteors," saidthe toneless witch... throat. "We'llmiss them all on this orbit. But-"

"The little stones. I know, Val.Can you turn them?"

22

"Get out," she said.He unbuckled and pushed from

the cabin as 60ftly as possible, closingthe door behind him. She was beginning a new chant.

Peralta, Dykman, and Hall turnedtheir eyes to him as he entered the\vardroom. Their faces were drained.

"You can crawl out of that webbing if you want, boys," he toldthem. "We're on a free-fall path,safe from the big rocks."

"But how about the small ones. . . the gravel cloud?" Dykmanlicked sandy lips.

"That's up to Val." Martinshrugged. "I saw quite a density;normally, I reckon a thousand orso'd be hitting us. None of 'em arevery large, but the relative velocityis up in miles per second."

They freed themselves and hungin air like fish in a tank. Peralta hadhis patching kit handy; he couldrepair a dozen or so leaks. There wasno point in donning spacesuits, whichonly carried two hours' air supply.

Hall spoke, raggedly: "Captain. . . how do you know there is as\varm out there?"

Martin blinked. "I saw 'em.Looked through the periscope."

"Did you? Or did you see whatyou'd hypnotized yourself into seeing?"

There was another stillness. Sweatbeaded Hall's face. He brushed someof it off, and the drops spun cloudilyabout his head.

"You -" Peralta bunched hislegs for a lunge.


"That'll dol" snapped Martin.There was a crack like thunder.

Their eyes did not register thestreak till it was past. Two bulletholes with melted edges glared ateach other across the room, and theair smelled scorched ..

Peralta whirled, clapped an adhesive patch over each, and sawinternal pressure bulge them. Another explosion resounded down thecorridor. He went off to find thepunctures.

"Now do you believe?" askedMartin gently.

Hall covered his eyes-."Two hits," said Dykman. "T\vo

hits she didn't stop.""There are plenty she did," an

swered Martin. He drew a· longshuddering breath. "Hang on. We'llbe through the cloud, whole ordead, in another couple of minutes."

Peralta returned. They hungthere, waiting. None of them lookedat Hall. Now and then the shipclanged like a smitten gong, pebblesbouncing off the hull with too muchvelocity lost to penetrate.

The supercargo raised his face andstared into hollowness. "I t ...seems . . . I was wrong," he said.

"It's okay," said Martin. "You'rejust a young fellow, I)hil, and yourfallacy comes natural. All those historical novels - the Hooverian restoration, Eisenhower's duel withHitler, atomic warlocks and nakedwomen in Las Vegas . . . I sort ofshared your romantic notions myself, once."

SUPERSTITION

"Fallacy?""About science working.""But it does! I've tried it!""Sure it does. The Phobos here is

proof enough. But the superstitionwas this, son: that science couldunderstand everything, and doeverything, and make everythinggood. ~

"I wonder how they could havehad so odd a belief, even then. Iwonder how anybody can look atEarth today and believe it. If yousay a true concept is one that works,then your science-is-all was falseevery radioactive crater, every mutant sickness, every monster born toa woman, preves that!"

They waited.Valeria came in. Only in nu11

gravity could she have moved. Thehigh cheekbones stood out as if fleshhad been sucked from beneath them.

" We're safe." They could barelyhear her speak. "I ... the spells. . . turned the stones away. We'rethrough them now."

Her eyes rolled up and she Boatedmotionless. Hall cried aloud, incoherently, and went to her.

Martin, Dykman, and Peralta returned to their posts, to get the shipback on orbit toward Mars. .

"It takes a lot. out of you," saidValeria. "But I'll be all right in afew days."

Hall gripped -her hand. They werealone in the wardroom, only theeyes of the hex signs were there towatch them.

23

He felt after words. I t is nevereasy to admit you were mistaken.In principle, he still couldn't.

But ... He tried to smile. "Youneedn't worry about me," he said."I'll believe now that you can doeverything."

"Oh, no. Only a few things," shereplied hastily, and made a twofinger V.

"Enough," he said. "Enough tosee us through. I'm surprised I neverrealized it before."

"The Covens don't operateopenly," she told him. "Magic isbest done in private. So all you'veseen are dances, medicine, publicceremonies. You never sa':V a homunculus aware ofwhat was happening a hundred miles away. You neversaw two warlocks exchange thoughtswithout speaking, or ... or a witchforeknowing potential trouble spotsanddeBecting meteors."

His jaw came forward, stubbornly•"I'm not convinced yet that thereisn't a lot of superstition around,"he said. "I have my doubts aboutmost of the rituals. But I'm willingto be open-minded about them, andlook for evidence in each case."

"That's sufficient. You'll make agood spaceman." Her eyes drooped,and she settled herself into the curveof his arm.

"Telepathy, precognition, psychokinesis, psychosomatics - they werealmost ignored in the old days," hesaid thoughtfully. "Maybe believedin rites are necessary to focus thepowers. of the mind. Maybe what

24

lnan has nceded \\"as a chance to give

them unhindered play, and to studythcm \vith the help of the logic\vhich thc age of science had de\-eloped."

\Taleria laughed, vcry softly. "Allright," she said.•,If it makes youhappier, if you think it's Inore sci-

FA~TASY A~J) SCIE:'\CE FICTIO~

en tifie, to call magic by such names,go ahead. I t's still magic!"

He tightened his ann about her\vaist, and she sighed and n1ade noobjection. In the face of the oldestInagic of alL he didn't think she,vould rClnain a \"itch ,'cry n1t1chlonger.

"Look! Tlzere it is again!"

The cartoon above, by Ronald Searle, appeared in his collection "The Fenlale Approach,"(ID /954 by Ronald Searle. Best known for "The Belles ofSt. Trinians," Mr. Searle is one ofF:l1glal1d'sforenlost cartoonist.'- and appears regular~\' ill ·'Punch."

John W. Vandercook is probably hest known as a war correspondent, tI

lecturer and a news an~/yst for ABC. But he's also a writer of note, notonly in the field of factual reporting, hut also in fiction. (His delightfultz()enty-year-old adventure-detective stories, MURDER IN TRINIDAD andMURDER IN FIJI, were revived last year in Macmillan's Murder Revisitedseries.; and this year we're promised" brand-new one, MURDER IN HAITI.)

SO far as I know, The Challenge is his only fantasy, but an impressiveone. When Ellery Queen awarded it a second prize four years ago, "he palledit .. in many respects .. the most significant story to come out of last.year's - or "any year's - contest' '.1. an.d I think you'll find it unusuallypo,ver/ttl in giving a deeper hU1nan meaning to a singular occult phenomenon.

crhe Challengehy JOHN w. VANDERCOOK

"CO~IE INI COME IN!" SINCE THE "Try it, please. i\gain!"strained, high-pitched voice must This time the door swung easily.be assumed to be his host's, l->rofessor Professor Nadelman opened it allNadelman obeyed. Though the knob the way, then closed it. The obturned readily, the big, white- struction, whatever it was, hadpainted door seemed extraordinarily disappeared.heavy. I->rofessor Nadelman put With a visible effort Mr. Pelerindown his rope-tied cardboard suit- recovered himself and put out hiscase so that he could use both hands. hand. The two men frankly surIt \vas, he thought calmly, as if he veyed each other.\vere pushing against something soft Professor "Nadelman, as he had-like a great \\:eight of feathers. expected, found this distinguished

l'he small, alert-looking man in _ American art critic to whom he wast\veeds who stood some paces back already so enormously indebted enin the hallway was staring into the tirely to his liking. Mr. Pelerin'sangle behind the now half-opened gray eyes flashed intelligen~e. Hisdoor. Professor Nadelman looked. closely trimmed dark hair was grayThere ,vas absolutely nothing there. ing. His slender body radiated en"

© 1952 by Mercury Publications, Inc.

2')

ergy. An air of preoccupation, Professor Nadelman put down to nerves.

For his part Mr. Pelerin wasshocked. He had expected to beshocked. But not like this. Theworld-famous authority on the Renaissance was a scarecrow. Eventhough Professor Nadelman wasthinner than any human being hehad ever seen, ·the suit of cheapblack shoddy he wore was manysizes too small 'for him. The hawklike, learned face was literally gray.Since Mr. Pelerin .had heard nocar, Professor Nadelman must havec~rried his heavy suitcase from thedepot. It was unbelievable. Buthe had pushed back the door.

Nadelman saw the look of aston-ishment. .

"You must not, my dear benefactor," he said in his gently accen ted English, "be concernedabout me. I have great endurance.I learned it," he smiled faintly, "inan excellent school. Believe me, Iam very well. h

Mr. Pelerin took both his guest'sbony hands in his.

"And you, I beg of you, mustnever think of me, much less callme, your 'benefactor.' When Iheard ~ when all our own littleworld - heard that you were stillalive -" Mr. Pelerin's smile wascharming. "'There was great rejoicing.' You will stay here as longas you choose. When you feel ablewe shall work. I am alone. It is abig house."

"It is," said Professor Nadelman


pOlitely, " a very beautiful house.""It was a hideous house," said Mr.

Pelerin sharply. "Grotesquely, almost brutally, ugly. I bought itbecause the land was good and thevillage charming. The house was achallenge. A problem in practicalesthetics. All m"y adult life I havetaught what we so mincingly call'good taste.' This was my chance tolearn if I could apply my preaching."

"You have," inquired ProfessorNadelman slowly, "won?"

Mr. Pelerin looked at him acutely.Nadelman's .English, he knew, wasfaultless. His brilliant Age of Alexander VI had been written in it.Nadelmao had not said "succeeded."He had said "won."

"I am not sure," said Mr. Pelerin."I am not at all sure."

"Perhaps," suggested the emaciated scholar, "I can assist." Hismouth, though gentle, had unexpected firmness. "I am not-"Apologetically Professor Nadelmanstretched out his right arm so thesleeve of the scanty jacket slid up.On the underside of his forearmwas tattooed, in blue, the number53696. "I am not," he repeated,"without experience."

Mr. Pelerin's taste was exquisite.What he had brought to this housein a New Hampshire village repre"sented the accumulation of years ofdiscriminating travel. The rugs, paleIspahans and robust Bokharas, werelike old gardens. The small E1 GrecoView of Toledo over the Adamsmantel, which Pelerin had discov--

THE CHALLENGE

ered in a Cordoba junkshop, broughtreal tears of pleasure to Elias Nadel...man's eyes. But the stench, thepain of Buchenwald and the rat~like

life he had led since then in theruins of the land he had oncethought his, had sharpened newperceptions. All that Pelerin haddone was a thin glaze. For all hisskill, he had disguised this house,he had not yet changed it. l'hespirit of the place still leered withsullen and unresting anger throughthe 'hand-blocked wallpapers andthe triple coats of dove-gray paint.Nadelman could feel the weightof it.

Though Mr. Pelerin concealedthe fact with the urbanity of theman of parts he was, his guest couldsee he was uneasy. In a lesser man,the \vord would have been fear. It\vas an emotion Elias Nadelman hadknown well. But that had been longago....

After dinner and a short hour oftalk before the open fire - for thespring night was chilly - Mr. Pelerinsuggested they retire. Early bed...time, he explained, was a villagecustom into which he had readilyfallen. With characteristic thought...fulness he did not offer to escort theolder man to his room. The host...and-guest "relationship, he had' resolved, must be abolished at once.The exile must be made to feel thishouse was his.

Professor Nadelman was glad thathe had not been escorted. For he

27

saw the w~ght the moment heswitched on the light in his bed~

room.The center of the white candle'"

wick spread on the spool bed wasdepressed, as if a dog were lying onit. Professor Nadelman strode forward and, leaning, seized the spread'sfour corners and brought them together. Though the weight - hehad not expected it would be sogreat - made him stagger, heturned swiftly and swung the sacklike bundle with all his force againstthe edge of the half-open door.

There \vas no sound. But, 'as ifwater ran froln it, the spread grewlighter. In a few seconds it wasempty. Professor Nadelman shookit out, folded it neatly, and hung itover the back of a chair.

The bed was the softest in whichhe had slept since the hard andheavy men in black boots had comeone summer night to his house justoff the Ringstrasse, which he hadnever seen again, and taken himaway. That had been twelve yearsago. In those years he had learnedmuch.

It was true, he was a little tired.The bony arm marked with the fiveblue numbers reached out andturned out the light.

. .. It was curious, Mr. Pelerinreflected. It was very curious indeed.He should feel that he was Nadel...man's protector. The guest wasolder. Whatever he might say, helooked inconceivably fragile. He

28

was penniless. Instead, it was Nadelman who gave him assurance.Starved and horribly beaten scarecrow though he was, he exudedcalm, confidence - yes, survival. It'was good to have him. Mr. Pelerinsaid so. .

He did not say why.In the year he had spent in Clo

verly, New Hampshire, the onlyreal friend Mr. Pelerin had madewas a doctor who lived across thestreet.

Doctor George Gage, his grayingreddish hair and his tweeds bothlooking as if they had been deliberately mussed, and clutching hisscarred old faggot of a bulldog pipein his strong teeth, strolled overduring the morning when they werewalking in the yard.

Together the three men surveyedthe house. The new owner hadpaintea it a gleaming white. Withhis quick gestures and birdlike energy, Pelerin explained that once ithad been red, the color of driedblood; that he had removed a veranda, two turrets, and rods of fret·work. Despite his efforts, he hadnot been able to make grass growwithin twenty feet of the founda·tions. Perhaps it was because hehad not yet brought himself to cutdown the giant black spruces whichsurrounded it.

Unlike most householders, Mr.Pel~rin did not seem to expectpraise.

It was as well. T~e big box of aplace was still too high, too square.


Its windows were too narrow. Theystared like slitted, baleful python'seyes.

It was Mr. Pelerin's custom tospend a certain time each day atwork in his study. Since it seemed,when the hour came, that Pelerinwas hanging back, Prqfessor Nadelman made an excuse to accompanyhim. The door opened. There was noobstruction nor any indication of anabnormal presence. Then Nadelmanwalked across the shaded street tocall on Doctor Gage.

Gage greeted him in a clutteredsurgery. "Come over for a check...up?"

The refugee, the tips of his long,thin fingers together, shook hishead. "One of the best physiciansin Europe assured me I am imper·ishable. So was he. \Ve were fellowprisoners."

Doctor Gage chewed his emptypipe and nodded. "Our friend?"

"Not yet. The house itself. Whohas lived in it?"

Reflectively, Gage tapped thepipe in the palm of his left hand."Pelerin's the second buyer sincethe Mullens. The first was a retiredfarmer. It was too much for him.Too hard to take care of. He let itgo back to the bank for a smallmortgage. Before Pelerin came alongthe place had been empty for t\velveyears. A terrible eyesore. Pelerin'sdone wonders."

'-'There was," his visitor inquired,"no other suggestion?"

THE CHALLENGE

Gage peered at him under shaggyeyebrows. "Any fanciful suggestion,you mean?"

Professor Nadelman smiled. "Ispent, my dear Doctor Gage, eightyears in Nazi prison camps. It is anexperience which does not encour"age - fancy. These Mullens? Whowere they?"

Gage teetered back in a batteredchair supported by a coiled blackspring. "They were dinosaurs. Theold man came here back in thenineties and built that house. You'venot been here long enough for it tohave any implication when I tellyou they, built a factory. You cansee what's left of it down by thedepot. But this is an old town, aquiet town, in the middle of goodfarming country. It needed a fae..tory about as much as it neededtyphus." Gage paused and suckedat his cold pipe to sort and simplifyhis tale. Then he continued. ""fhere\vas the old man and his son. Twohundred-pounders, both of 'em.Black hair, big hands', and sharpIi ttle pig's eyes. They were partners.In business and under the skin.They hated each other's guts. It\vas in the days of free immigration.They got their labor fronl NewYork. Droves. As helpless and con"fused as cattle. They always tookcare to bring more than theywanted, so there'd be plenty with..out jobs. The town hated it. Butthe Mullens, I regret, waxed rich."

"And what," urged Professor Na...delman, "became of them?"

29

Doctor Gage studied the hawk'"narrow but resolute face for a longmoment.

"The old man," he said matter-offactly, "went first. Crushed. Thecable of an overhead crane gaveway. A huge bucket of scrap iron."

"An accident ?"aCertainly! There was an inquest.

Everything was perfectly clear.Since he and Frank - Frank wasthe son - were alone at the plantwhen it happened, there was gossip,of course. This is a small town,Nadelman. But it came to nothing." Doctor Gage snorted. "Thenit really started. Frank had married.A slim' blonde girl from one of thoseBoston banking families. No ·onecould figure how he'd done it, buthe did. He brought her back to thatold red house 'to live. I liked her."

Gage looked clown and meaning..lessly whacked his pipe three timeson the arm of his chair. "I almostloved her. Delicate. A lady. Yet allthe courage in the world. Frank wasambitious. Nothing else. For I al..ways thought he despised her. Butit turned out old man Mullen hadleft her his share of the plant. Fifty..one percent. That made her Frank'sboss."

Doctor Gage pointed. "Youdidn't see much through those trees.Or hear much. But you could guessplenty. Things at the factory beganto change. Some of those poor devilsgot raises. They were on a. 6o-hourweek. It was cut to 48. Frank lookedlike a black- cloud."

3°

With elaborate care Doctor Gageput his pipe down on the desk. Professor Nadelman's eyes had alreadydetected that the hand which heldit had begun to tremble.

"Then one morning early I got ahurry call to come over. Frank, inhis bathrobe, met me at the door."Gage broke off. "Funny. Funny reactio,n, I mean, but he held the door.for some seconds before he let mein. All he said was that Carriethat was her name - wasn't breathing when he woke up.

"Cyanosed, we call it. Possiblyheart. Or, on the other hand, suffocation. That is to say, deliberatesuffocation. Murder. I was supposedto sign the death certificate. Iwouldn't."

Gage came to as complete a stopas if his narrative were ended. Hefilled his pipe from a brass-toppedglass humidor on the desk and carefully lit it. Without taking the nowbelching briar from his mouth hesaid through the clouds of smoke:

"You must be very persuasive,Nadelman. I don't generally do thissort of thing. There's no good raking up the past. I want you topromise. Keep this between ourselves. Our friend over there is in astate of nerves. His control's firstrate, but I'm a good enough doctorto see through it. All this wouldn'tdo him any ,good. If he knows already - and I don't think he does- that's his business. But it's notmine. Or, if you'll forgive my saying so, yours."


Professor Nadelman inclined hishead in agreement. He absently examined the palm of his right hand.It was as heavily calloused as apeasant's.

"Tell me, Doc tor;" he saidquietly. "This courageous younglady, this Carrie - she fought back?"

Gage's astonishment made hispipe leap from between his teethand land with a shower of sparks inhis lap. He beat them out with unnecessary violence.

"What made you say that?"Nadelman spread his hands. "The

house was empty. The factory thosestrong men built is in ruins. Somewhere there was victory."

The doctor nodded. "There \vas.There was, indeed."

"Continue, please.""Well, I didn't like it. Admit

tedly, I was only guessing, but Ithought she had been suffocated.As if - well, as if by some bigweight. Say, a body. I told Frankflatly I wasn't satisfied. I reportedto the coroner and stepped out."

Gage, with his slow, bear~like

movements, got up and stood by awindow which looked to the darktrees and the gleam of the ,vbitehouse across the street.

"The morning of the hearingFrank Mullen sent for me. He wasin_ bed, just his shock of black hair,his hard mouth, and those littlepig's eyes of his showing. Even hisarms were under the covers. In hisbullying, snarling way, he orderedme to tak~ his telnperature. Noth·

THE CHALLENGE

ing else. It was none of my businesswhat ailed him and he'd get betterqui~ker if I'd not meddle with him.All he wanted of me was my reporthe was too sick to go to court. Youusually did what Frank Mullen toldyou. I did. I still remember. 105

goint 2. He wasn't faking. The hearing was put off. It was two daysbefore he sent for me again."

Gage came back to his chair. "Adoctor gets tough. Has to. ButFrank Mullen scared me. You couldhardly recognize hiln. He was swollen. A kind of red-purple. Whatyou could still see of his eyes burnedlike red coals. He was losing. Hehad lost. So he hated the wholewide world.... Not until he wasdead did I have a chance to examinehim. I knew what it ,vas, but not\vhy. Blood poisoning. We had Inaantibiotics then."

Gage put his pipe down to freeboth hands. Leaning forward, heshaped them into claws, reached up,and with startling violence rippedthe~ downward through the air.

"On each of his arms, froln theshoulders to belo,v the elbows, '"erefour parallel scratches. T hey hadcut deep into the flesh. They hadinfected. They'd killed. They weretnade by the fingernails of humanhands."

Gage nodded. "Yes, she'd foughtback."

It was for Mr. Pelerin to choose,and obviously he had chosen. Theguest would respect his host's deci-

31

sian. They would not speak of it.After his first six weeks in Clo

verly, ·Professor Nadelman becameconvinced that Pelerin was beingtormented by the ·weight more andmore frequently. In spite of hisconsiderable gifts of self-control, theyounger man was eating badly. Hishabit of inattention became moremarked. Mr. Pelerin had high courage, but the invisible, soundless,formless persecution was wearingit away.

Professor Nadelman on the otherhand began to encounter it lessoften. He thought he knew why.

The weight had no fixed timetable or locale. The door of a closetor a _bedroom might, on opening,encounter ponderous, yet soft, resistance. At first Nadelman wouldsimply force it open. That the terrible years had made him strong astempered wire gave him wry amusement. Then he hit upon the trickof opening doors behind whichcrouched the unseen weight by asharp, swinging motion, by a repeated hammering of the oakenpanels. And that particular formof annoyance soon grew less.

Once, alone, he entered Mr. Pelerin's little-used formal drawingroom and switched on the light.The floor was covered by a Chineserug of singularly deep pile. Over anarea of indeterminate shape, perhaps a square yard in extent, thewool threads were flattened. As hewatched, the area began slowly toincrease. In the light from the erys...

32

tal chandelier he could see the erecttufts of the carpet lie down one byone and, as it were, harden, untilthe jute fabric unde~neath beganto show.

He darted into the hall and cameback with a bamboo walking stick.With all his strength, he began toflail, to whip, the place on whichthe weight rested. The cane met noresistance. Each blow was completedagainst the rug. But instantly thearea effected began to shrink. Thetufts stood upright. In a moment,when Professor Nadelman pausedfor breath, it occupied no morespace than could be covered by twospread hands.

Pelerin had heard him and wasstanding in the door, his handsclenched, his eyes sta~ing, his lipssucked in. Before the· professorcould resume his offensive, the\ve1ght, with startling rapidity, spedacross the room - its progress revealed by the flattening of the rug- until it came to a blind wall anddisappeared.

To Nadelman the demonstrationseemed complete. Clearly, theweight felt pain. Under counterattack, it fled. Peleriri was a man ofintelligence. Nadelman must assumethe lesson was not lost on him.

The two men walked in silence tothe library. When Mr. Pelerinpoured brandy his hands shook sothat the neck of the decanter rattleda thin and frightened tune on thegoblets' rims. Neither spoke. Butboth, now, had seen it. It was real.


It was Nadelman's conviction thatthe weight was hostile·- to thechanges in the house, its house,which Pelerin had made. And tothem. It was also his belief theweight was subject to certain laws.Proof soon carne.

In 'the room with the Adamsmantel stood one of Mr. Pelerin'smost prized possessions, a Louis XVoccasional table whose carved legstapered to the diameter of a fountain pen. Pelerin owned many thingsof more value, but nothing ofgreater delicacy. The whole perfect,useless thing could be lifted by twofingers.

The two men were at lunch whenthey heard the reverberation of thebass keys of a piano, as if a cathadjumped on them, then, secondslater, the crash of splintering wood.

The little table, an irreparableruin, lay in fragments on the floor.They were just in time to see thefringed corner of a rug twisted asideby the weight's passing, before itdisappeared.

The table had "been crushed fromthe top downward. It was plain howit had happened. Mrs. Humphries,the woman from the village who"did" for them, in cleaning thatmorning had left the table awayfrom its accustomed position closeto" the rosewood piano. A smallfootstool had been moved near thepiano bench.

The weight, then, \vas like a variable quantity of soft, invisible putty,but a putty of concentrated mass

THE CHALLENGF

\vhich - no word quite fittedpoured itself forward and even upward; but it was subject to the lawsof gravity. It had forced itself ontothe footstool, then onto the bench,then by way of the keyboard ontothe piano, whence it had droppeddown upon the table. l'he act wasone of pure vindictive vandalism.

Professor Nadelman had to speak."My dear friend," he said gently,"are you very sure you are right?Not desertion. I would not proposeit, but perhaps a short absence?"

Mr. 'Pelerin's voice, though itshook a little, was steely-. "Elias, Iam not a coward."

The elderly, emaciated refugeeinclined his head.

But he was worried. His generoussavior, now his friend, was showingthe strain. Slight in build at best,Pelerin was visibly losing weight.His skin was a bad color. With thecoming of the still July days hebegan to complain fretfully of theheat. In words Pelerin revealednothing, but fear was peeringthrough his eyes. Though the weightnow avoided Nadelman almost completely, its remorseless, secret warupon his host was fast reaching, theprofessor began to believe, a mortalst'!ge.

l'hen he was certain.Pelerin was in his study. Through

the closed door Elias Nadelmanheard a high and piercing screamthat in a mere instant choked intoterrifying silence.

33

Mr. Pclerin satat his big, leathertopped Sheraton desk. He hadfainted. He had been examining aChinese painting by separating withboth extended hands the two stickson which it was tightly rolled. Hishead lolled forward but his hands,the fingers wide, were still pressedhard upon the antique painted silk.The two rolled ends of the paintingwere flat and crumpled. The weightlay on them.

An Elizabethan dagger whichPelerin used as a paper cutter layon the desk. With a pounce Nadelman took it and with swift yetcarefully controlled savagerystabbed and stabbed 'again throughthe air just above the desk. InstaDtlyhe saw the blood flow back intoPelerin's pale hands. Released, .theyslid back across the desktop andfell supinely in his lap.

Nadelman could not be sure. Itmay have com~ from Pelerin's unconscious lips. But he thought heheard a moan.

An hour later he rang DoctorGage's bell.

Without preamble or emotionNadelman described the incidentsof the preceding weeks - from theformless, invisible mass which hadtried, harmlessly, to oppose his firstopening of Mr. Pelerin's door tothe physical assault 'which had justtaken place.

When he had finished, Gagesmiled, but only with his mouth.

"I assume, Elias," he said, "youdidn't come for my opinion?"

34

"No, George."'- "As a physician," Gage persisted,"and for the rocord, I suppose youknow what it is. You and Pelerinare suffering from a co11ective hallucination. Why you are, or ·why it'staken this form, the good Lordmay know." He held up a grizzled,capable hand to ward off interruption. "I know that between thetwo of you, you've got four timesmy brains. In these things, though,intelligence isn't a safeguard. Understand me, now. Diagnosis, rightor wrong, doesn't alter anything. Afact of the mind is no less a factthan an aneurism. Maybe I'm just acountry doctor, but I do know that.Let's simply say a condition exists.The point is, how do we treat it?What do you want of me?"

"I want you to send him a\vay.I'm (Jfraid."

Gage looked at him appraisingly."And you don't scare easy, do you,Elias?" I

"I'm afraid," Nadelman amended,"for our friend. Not for myself."

The late afternoon sunlightstreamed in the tall upstairs windows. Mr. Pelerin was in bed. Hiseyes were closed, his clever faceagainst the white pillows lookedthin and drained of strength. Hishands were outside the sheet thaton this summer day was all thecovering needed.

Doctor Gage stood looking downat him. It had been thirty yearssince he had come into this room.

FANTASY AND SCJENCE FICTIO~

Then it had been all somber darkness. Now it was all light. . . . Obscurely, he was not so sure that ithad changed.

Suddenly his eyes sharpened.Leaning, he picked up Pelerin'shands and put his face close to them.

·'Putting them gently down, he summoned Nadelman to a far corner ofthe room.

"His hands," Gage \vhisperedhoarsely, "are bruised! One of thenails has begun to darken. It's as ifthey had been crushed."

The· professor smiled. "By anhallucination, doctor."

Mr. Pelerin spoke from the bed.The voice was so much his own, stillso full of nervous force, that bothmen started.

"George! Elias! I beg of you!Surely at your time of life youshould both know there is nothingso intensely irritating to an invalidas a whispered consultation. Especially when the invalid isn't ill."

Rather tiredly, Mr. Pelerin pulledhimself higher on his pillows and cautiously laced the two bruised handsbehind his head. "Come closer, bothof you, so I can talk to you." Hestudied their faces for a n10ment before he went on. "You are both ininterested in my ailment. I can tellyou what it is. Though the form-"Mr. Pelerin drew his hands frombehind his head and held them motionless in the air for an instantbefore he put them back, "- thoughthe particular form," he repeated,"is unusual, the complaint, I fear,

THE CHALLENGE

is common. I t is called - failure."Pelerin looked away from them,

his eyes clouded with reflection."I have attempted to replaceugliness with - though the wordhas grown shabby I must use itwith beauty. Force - with grace.Strength with - what shall .I say?- intelligence. The undertaking isnotoriously hard. I have not succeeded. So one day I shall die of it."

"Nonsense!" In Doctor Gage'sown ears the exclamation soundedstrangely loud. He hurried on in amore normal tone. "You're tired.You've used yourself up, that'saIl. "

Mr. Pelerin smiled, as if from faraway. "So what, George, do youprescribe?"

"Rest. Distraction. For a monthor two anyway you've got to goaway."

"Go?" said Mr. Pelerin. "Youmean 'run.' It would not be practicable, George. One cannot flee one'sown inadequacy. Elias, don't youagree ?"

"Your only inadequacy, my dearfriend," said Nadelman sharply, "isyour- technique. You rely on courage. The antagonist despises courage. You are firm, patient. You putyour trust in superior example. Theerror is common. If persisted in, notonly you but all civilization mayvery well 'die of it.' The Brute fearsonly pain."

In a different tone, Nadelman persisted, "George is right. For a shorttime you must go away. Gainstrength. Gather your resources. It

35

will not be easy for you, but youmust learn to fight back, to be asruthless as the enemy. I think youshould go quickly."

The tip of Mr. Pelerin's tonguecrept out to wet his lips.

"Very \vell. Tomorro\v."

Doctor Gage showed no disposition to go home. Nor to talk. Nadelman heard him wandering throughthe house, peering into concealedplaces and softly opening and closing doors.

They dined sketchily on a table inMr. Pelerin's room. Since for thefirst time among them conversationlimped, Nadelman talked at lengthabout his chosen field, the Renaissance.

Afterward, all that remained inDoctor Gage's memory was onephrase:

"Beauty was honored in a time ofviolence because it was defended withsharp steel."

While Gage sat with Mr. Pelerin.Nadelman made his preparations forthe night.

In the cheap cardboard suitcase hehad brought from Europe was awhip. The handle was short, the buttof lead, and the woven lash of discolored leather about six feet long.I t was a curious souvenir for anelderly professor of esthetics to havekept. He had picked it up at Buchenwald where Block Leader Hanselhad dropped it in the hurry of hisdeparture at the news that theAmericans \vere near. The black

36

whip had cut so often into Nadelman's own skin, been stained withso much of his own blood, that heknew it intimately. Since then, hehad learned to handle it.

Secretly, but with no shame, Professor Nadelman had always hopedfor an opportunity to use it. Therewere debts it was unholy not to pay.

The distinguished author of TheAge ofAlexander Vlrolled the whiptightly, hid it under his coat, andwent to his host's room.

Mr. Pelerin was asleep. In a lowvoice Doctor Gage said he had injected a strong enough sedative tolast through the night. Nadelmanwas not sure he approved but it wastoo late to object. After a little, say"ing he was to be called at any rno"ment, Gage went home.

Professor Nadelman turned on thelight in' the ceiling and those by themirror and the desk, so the room wasa white glare. The chair he drewclose to Mr'. Pelerin's bedside wascarefully selected. It was comfort..able, yet not so luxurious as to tempthim into sleep. The manifestationsof force were often cunning. He hadtaken care that every door in thecruel and sulking hous~ was left ajar.

Elias Nadelman took the whipfrom ~nder his coat. With a 'lightshake he made it ready and laid itacross his knees.

The hands of the tiny Limogesenamel clock on Pelerin's ibedsidetable moved very slowly- to mid..night, to one, to two. At intervalsNadelnlan systematically moved his

FAKTASY :\ND SCIEKCE FICTION

arms, his legs. He \vas not sleepy,hut there \vas danger that withoutoccupation his mind, his senses,might gro\v dull. The man in thebed slept \:vithout moving.

I t was surprising that he noticed.It was a mark of the perfe~tion ofPelerin's housekeeping that everyhinge was oiled. The open doorwhich gave onto the dark hall wasslowly closing.

With a single leap the gaunt. prematurely aged man flung himselfagainst it. The weight behind itmade him grunt. Though his position was awkward he brought downthe black lash of the whip into theemptiness outside with all the forcehe could summon. At the thirdstinging cut the door gave way sosuddenlY that Nadelman all butstumbled to his knees. At once herealized he had made an incom..parably grave mistake. Nowhere,except in Pelerin's own room, had.he left on any lights. Precious seconds were lost while he found andsnapped the switch. Nadelman suckedin his breath. Never had the weightbeen so great.

Just at the head of the stairs thatled into the darkness of the floor below, the gray rug was pressed downhard over a loosely circular areanearly five feet in diameter. With avicious whistle and a crack like agunshot, the whip lashed down onthe floor. Nadelman felt a sense ofhigh and impure joy. Instantly theweight flung itself down the steps.Though \flothing "ras to be seen, the

THE CHALLENGE

steps creaked, the heavy oak banistershook.

Nadelman, the whip ready, wasafter it, his bony wrists thrustingfrom the short sleeves, his shoddyjacket flying. Once more time \vaslost \vhile the lean pursuer groped inthe air for the cord of the hanginglamp which lit the lower hall.

As he found it, the nearby door tothe drawing room, which opened in\vard, shut with a soft rush and aclick of the brass la tch. The weigh ttonight was moving more swiftlyand with more appearance of intentthan ever before. Twice in the nextfew moments Nadelman \vas surehe had stung it with his whip. Theprofessor's lips were drawn backover his teeth, the skin of his facefelt tight, and he \vas supremelyhappy.

In a silence unbroken but for therasp of his own breathing and the\vhish and crackle of the whip, thechase led on. Two more rooms weretraversed. In each he lost times\vitching on the light..

In the high-ceiled dining roomNadelman stopped. He was panting.All trace of the antagonist had vanished. The pleasant room with itsshining oval of mahogany was snug,at peace. Nadelman could hear nocreak or rustle.

Peering intently, he tqrned slowlyaround. A door into the cellar openedfrom an alcove at one end of theroom. That, too, he had left open.He thought he saw it move. Thefury - not just of the night, the

37

house, but of the years - was hot inhim. He was no longer thinking.With three long strides he reachedthe cellar door and stood staringdown into the darkness. The doorstruck hard against the tense calvesof his legs, his back. He staggered,mis~ed his footing, and plungeddown. ~ His head struck the jaggedfoundation wall, and Professor Nadelman lost consciousness.

It was ilnpossible to tell. But whenhis senses struggled upward out ofthe black turmoil of insensibility, itseemed to him he had been unconscious only a few minutes. With acry of fear he stumbled to his feet.His left arn1 hurt acutely. A gropinghand encountered the" feel of wannblood on his scalp. Moaning withterror, he scrambled up out of thesour darkness, ran with great pumping strides of his long legs throughthe hall, up the next flight, andinto Mr. Pelerin's room.

The sheets had been kicked into atangle. One pillow was on the floor.Mr. Pelerin's hands were stiffly outspread, as if they had been arrestedin the act of pushing. I-lis face waspurple.

For a moment the compound ofdespair, grief - above all, the kno\vledge of how he had been tricked almost deprived Nadelman of sight.Seconds passed before his visioncleared. Pelerin was slightly built.The mattres~and the rumpled pillo\von which he lay were firm. Yet hislight frame ,vas pressed as deeply

38

into them as if his body were agiant's. The \veight still lay onhim.

Nadelman had lost the whip. ItInust still be lying at the bottom ofthe cellar steps. He clawed his handsand with the energy of a madmanbegan to scratch and rip and rake theempty air fractions of inche~abovePelerin's face, chest, arms. He couldfeel nothing.

But he was winning. He was winning! Gradually his friend's contorted body rose. The inward slopeof the spring mattress flattened.There was the faint sound of suckedin breath. Pelerin was still alive.The weight had withdrawn.

There ,vas a phone on the desk.Doctor Gage answered the firstring. In two minutes - clearly hehad not undressed - he ,vas in Pel...erin's room. With 'hairy, clumsyhancas suddenly turned skillful, heinjected a stimulant; then .pressed,relaxed, and pressed again on Pelerin's lower ribs. At last, satisfied,the doctor straightened the tangledsheets and made the still unconsciousman comfortable. Not until he wasdone did he face the other man.

His eyes dark with hostility hetook in the Jew's dust-smearedclothes, his panting breath, theblood upon his head.

"You knew, of course," Gage saidharshly. "Last week Pelerin made awill. I witnessed it. He leaves youeverything." He jerked his head."You'd better go. I'm going to stayright here all night."

FANTASY ANIJ SCIENCE FICTION

The import of the words madeNadelman physically reel. The finehead with the arched hawk-nosedrew down between his lifted shoulders, his hands opened in a gestureof false obedience, of mocking submission as old and as little understood as tilne. Without a word EliasNadelman turned and walked a~ay.

In his o,vn room,. he did not turnon the light. Still dressed, the ,voundon his scalp forgotten, he lay downupon his bed.. , .. Was victory,real victory, impossible? He hadthought Gage his friend. That lookof hatred - what was worse, of unutterable distrust - ,vhen Gage hadaccused him of attempting the murder of his friend . . . it was as if hehad seen it always. In Babylon. InEgypt. In Spain ... In that rna"ment the face of that good man hadbeen the very face of force. The\\reight had many forms.

Of what use, then?Of all use. The fight lTIUSt never

pause.

The scream sought him as if he"'ere at the bottom of a well. Nadelman fought upward, as if through.black waves of oil.

It was his name. "Eli~sf Nadel..manl Elias! For God's sake, come!"It was Gage._

He was standing with his backagainst the wall, staring at the. bed.Gage had left on only the night lighton Palerin's table. Yet even in halfshadow the doctor's ruddy face wasgray, his lips· loose with fear.

THE CHALLE~GE

"Look!"Even as he sprang to the bed Na

delman saw that this time he was toolate. The weight had come again.And now it. was going. Pelerin'sbody, slowly lifted by the releasedpressure of the springs on which helay, was rising. In another second,with a queer limpness, it was free.

"Doctor!" said Nadelman ..With an effort, his movements

made unsure by shock, Gage stumbled across the room. When he hadlistened to Mr. Pelerin's heart heshook his head.

As he put away his stethoscope hishands were shaking. "I fell asleep,"said Doctor Gage humbly. "I amresponsible. "

During a perceptible pause Nadelman did not answer. "The weight,Doctor, made you its ally. The experience, alas, is not unknown. I, too,am guilty. Tonight I became not thedefender but the aggressor. By that,I served its purpose and not mine.We must be most vigilant."

Not until the doctor, in the lightedsafety of the living room, had gulped

39

down a copious drink of brandy didhe raise his eyes.

. "There are some things," he saidquietly, "for which you can't say,'I'm sorry.' I thought this hocuspocus . . . I can't think what gotinto me." He looked around himat the lovely room. "It's this house,Elias. Now thatit's yours, in thename of Heaven, tear it down. Burnit !"

Professor Nadelman shook hishead. "No, I shall stay. I shall-"he hesitated for a \vord: "~con

tend. And I think that I shall \vin."I do not pretend to understand,"

the professor went on calmly. "Herethere was some focus. A concentration. A distilled and stubborn residue. But cruel force, the will tocrush and kill, are as old as mao.The forms are infinite. Sometimesopen. Far more often, secret. Pelerinwas gentle. He would not fight back.One must. One must!"

The thin old man smiled sadly,but his mouth \vas firm.

"I learned tha't, you see, longbefore I caOle here."

Note:If you enjoy THE MAGAZINE OF FANTASY AND SCIEI'CE FICTI()~, you \villlike some of the other MERCURY PUBLICATIONS:

ELLERY QUEEN'S MYSTERY ~fAGA7INE

MERCURY MYSTERY BOOK-MAGA7INE

BESTSELLER MYSTERY BOOKS

JONATHAN PRESS ~1YSTERY BOOKS

In which the Sweet Singer of the Spaceways chants us a gattant tale ofmarital love, sudden disaster, and devotion beyond the call 0' duty.

'The Captain's ~atehy EVELYN E. SMITH

"SOMETIMES, CAPTAIN," DEACON

~narled, "I don't think you're evenhuman." I looked at him. "Whoever said I wasr" I replied, allowingmyself to show an amusement 1 didnot particularly feel. "Do I lookhwnanr"

At this, even the other menlaughed. Deacon's face intensified incolor. "You know what I mean,'"he retorted sullenly. "You have nof~elin~s."

Feelings, indeed! What did thisinsignificant biped know of feelings!"My fe,~.pgs are no concern ofyours," I told him brusquely. "Similarly, yours are no concern of mine.You're paid to do a job, and I wantthat job done..... And take yourgreasy tentacles off my trunk!"

1 pulled the chest out of hisreach. It was my private propertyand I was damned if I'd let one ofthese monsters touch it.

"They're hands, do you hear me!"he yelled. "Hands, not tentacles,and I'll thank you to rememberthat!"

"I'll try to," I said, "if you will

try to remelnber that I Blust beabsolutely alone in the control roomwhile I navigate. You know that's'the \shrlangi rule of space."

"I never heard it before," Spanier- the first and oldest of my threeofficers - remarked. "And I've beenkicking around space a good manyyears."

So what if I ,vas young - if Ihad got my wings only a couple ofdays before takeoff - he didn't haveto rub it in. Age and experienceweren't everything, although I wasbeginning to realize that they mighthave a certain utilitarian value."Well, you're hearing it now!" Isnapped. "You've never sailed ona shrlangi ship before, have your';

"No," he said softly. "None of usever has. Funny coincidence, isn'titr"

"Yeah," added little Muscat,"there's- not one other shrlangaboard, even among the passengers.Just people, except for the captain.And most of the machinery wasn'tmade for human hands to \vorkeither." His voice was questioning.

THE CAPTAIN'S MATE

"I'm sure you must have heardthat, of all the intelligent and semiintelligent species, only humans canbreathe the same atmosphere as theshrlangi," I condescended to explain, "and I had no intention ofspending over a month with myhead in a tank."

"That doesn't explain why youdidn't hire any .shrlangi as crewmen," Deacon pointed out. He wasbeginning to annoy me. "It's usualto have mixed crews. Are y~u . . .afraid of your own kind? And whywon't you at least come down tothe engine room and see what's\vrong? You know it's your duty."

I looked at him level-eyed, thoughinside my chitin I was shaking."Telling me what my duty is,Deacon? That smacks of insubordination. Let me remind you that theirons in the brig also were designedfor tentacles; human limbs mightfind them a bit painful."

He bit the fleshy protuberanceson the lower part of his face.

"Don't blame him, sir," ~panier

put in. "After all, you can't denythat things do ';eem a bit - wellfishy. It is rather odd for the captainnever to leave his ('ontrol room, evenin an emergency ,

I banged an al. ~erior tentacle onthe instrument panel. "When, youaddress me, Mister Spanier," Ithundered, "you'll call me ma'am,not sir!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said )ftly. -"Ialways forget I'm addressing alady."

41

I couldn't really ,blame him, forno doubt to them I was as hideousa monster as they appeared to me,and the idea of femininity in myspecies as ludicrous as the thoughtthat these uncouth creatures couldpossibly be males. However, I hadpicked my crew and passengers precisely because they had had little,if any, previous contact with theshrlangi. It had never occurred tome that the alien life-forms I hiredwould have sufficient intelligenceto notice any peculiarity in the ar...rangements, and I was frightened,feeling that perhaps I had bitten offmore than I could masticate.

The easiest way to mask fright iswith anger. "Get out of the.controlroom!" I stormed, breathing heavilythrough my spiracles. "All of you!"

They -left without quite closingthe door. "Bugs," I could hearDeacon mutter. "Just bugs. There,"S';Jsomething about this setup thatstinks to high heaven; I'll swear thatleak -in the'auxiliary fu...,~ t.Ciuk wasn'tan accident. Somebody wants toslow us down ... and the captain'sbeen doing everything she can tolouse us up since she boarded TheSpace Queen. I'd give a week's salaryto know what her little game is!"

"Yeah," agreed Muscat. "Andanother funny thing - what happened to her husband? His name ison the passenger list but he nevercame aboard. If you ask me, shedoesn't want to reach MethfesselIII - she's afraid the law'll be waiting for her there."

"But what good would all thisstalling do her?" Spanier asked."Eventually we'd have to makeplanetfall somewhere, and, whereverthat was, the Intergalactics wouldbe waiting for her. Give the giher a chance; maybe you're misjudging her."

"Sure," Muscat said. "Sure we'remisjudging her. She's a wonderfuler - thing and a credit to space.So why won't she at least take alittle trip down to the engine roomand see what's wrong with thedrive ?"

"After all," the first officer toldhim, "this is a shrlangi ship and wearen't familiar with a lot of theequipment, or with the kind ofalien mentality that constructed it.Maybe there's· some good reason forall this."

"If you ask me," Deacon remarked harshly, "she doesn't knowany n10re about running The SpaceQueen than we do. Two points offcourse a~ady ..."

At. that point I got up and angrilyslammed the door. Then I fished mycopy of the shrlangi edition of theIntergalactic Space Manual out of mycarapace and checked it against thebewildering banks of colored lightsand dials tha t surrounded me. in alldirec tions. Deacon was right; theship was two paints off course. Icorrected it - at least I hoped thatwas what I did. However, the possibility existed that she was now fourpoints off course.

I set her on automatic. Then I


got up and drew the chlorophylgreen silk curtains that obscured theobservation port. Only a clear plasticbubble stood between me and thevast blackness of interstellar spacethrough which I, virtually alone,was guiding the destinies of fifty-tworeasoning creatures - I, who hadnever even seen a spaceship beforein all" of my sheltered life. E verything \-vas incredibly empty andsilent. except for the continuous,maddening whine of the engines inthe background. I wondered, notfor the first time in those two horrible weeks, whether I had not beena trifle impetuous in doing what Ihad done, too confident in assumingthat I would be able to do it.

But what else could I have doneto avoid disgrace for myself andeverything I held dear? The answerwas . . . nothing.

I closed the curtains and returnedto my seat at the controls. I strokedthe intricate chasings of the metalchest by my side, the chest that hadb~en designed to hold my trousseau... for this voyage was to havebeen my honeymoon - the momentfor which I had hoped and plannedduring all of my adolescent years. Ifqnly JrisXcha were by me to tellme what to do ... but that wasimpossible now. \Vhatever happened,I would have to face the futurealone.

There was a vast sense of unfulfillment inside of me that was morepoignant than sorrow, more personalthan infini ty. Finally I realized it

THE CAPTAIN'S MATE

for what it was - I was hungry.The thought of food revolted me,but I must eat if I were to survive,and there were fifty-one life-formsdepending upon me. From the storesin my locker, for I had known whenfirst I set tentacle on The SpaceQueen that I would have to spendthe whole month of the voyage virtually confined to the control room, I took a cake of com~

pressed cpalKn and a container ofvriClu . . . but when I tried todrink the liquor I gagged on it,remembering that, had it not beenfor JrisXcha's fatal predilection forthat beverage, all this might nothave happened. So I drank waterinstead and felt the better for it.

I tried to forget myself in music,so I played on my bnaIooo and sanga very beautiful song about thevast emptinesses of deep space . . .but my hearts were not in it. Whatgood is a song with no one to singit to? At last I laid the instrumentaway and sat tormented by selfdoubting and loneliness. Would Ibe able to prolong the trip untilthe time was right - or would werun out of fuel and drift in spaceuntil all perished ? Was I right tohave risked the lives of so manyothers - mere humans though theymight be - on the slender chanceof saving face and reput~tion?

As if in answer to my question,suddenly a tremendous explosionflung me out of my seat and acrossthe cabin. The ship shuddered violently, as if some giant tentacle had

43

reached out froIn space to rock it.For a few minutes it twisted andturned in corkscrew fashion, ·whileI clung to a stanchion. There wasanother mighty thump, and thenthe body of tq.e ship relapsed intoa continual shivering. Meanwhile,the whine of the engines had risento an alternate roar and rasp, diversified by the occasional crash ofmachinery. Far, far away I couldhear the thin screams of the passengers. It looked to me as if something certainly had gone wrong.

As I picked myself and the navi~

gation charts up from the deck, thedoor was "flung open and the threeofficers burst in. From the palenessof their faces and the fixed gaze oftheir eyes, I deduced that they werein a disturbed state of mind.

Spanier saluted. "Ma'am," he saidtersely, "we just fell out of hyperspace."

"Dear me!" I replied. "I do hopewe haven't fallen on anything breakable."

"We haven't fallen on anything,ma'am," Spanier said. "\Ve havefallen into normal space."

"Oh, we have?" I wished I couldconsult my Manual. "That is bad,isn't it? Well- uh - can't we justcontinue on through normal space?"

He exhaled a long breath throughhis facial aperture. "We can," hesaid, "but it would delay the voyagea hell of a lot."

I exhaled a long breath throughmy spiracles. This was exactly whatI had hoped to accomplish, and here

44

it had happened all by itself! "We'renot in any hurry," I pointed out."The cargo isn't perishable."

"No, but we are. Via hyperspacewe \vouId reach Methfessel III intwelve days from now, give or takea day. The same trip through normalspace will take us two hundred andeighty-three years, give or take adecade."

"Gh," I murmured, "that doessound rather long." I wasn't beingauthoritative enough. I cleared mythroat. "How did it happen that wefell out of hyperspace anyhow? Ifsomeone was careless enough to dropus, it will bode ill for him."

"It \vas your fault!" Muscat burstout. "We tried to tell you all morning that one of the engines was onthe blink, but you wouldn't listen.It finally blew up, and the detonation hurled us back into normalspace/'

"But we have three more," I protested. "Surely we can make do."

"The ship was built to operate onfour, ma'am," Spanier said, "andit's much too heavy to get backinto hyperspace on only threeespecially since \ve lost so much reserve fuel before I could seal up thetank."

"Gh, yes," I said knowledgeably.Maybe sneaking down that evening\vhile everybody was at the ship'sdance and boring a hole in her sidehadn't been such a good idea, butit had been all I could think of atthat moment.

There \vas a snort from Deacon.

FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTIO~

"See, what did I tell you? Doesn'tknow a damn thing about operatinga spaceship. Probably an escapedcriminal taking a desperate chance."

"That doesn't really matter now,"the older man said. "At the moment,all we're interested in is makingplanetfall.

"Ma'am," he turned to me, "ouronly chance of survival is to jettisonthe cargo and the passengers' andcrew's gear. Everything that canpossibly go must be dropped off. Ifwe lighten the Queen enough, wemight be able to get her back intohyperspace on only three engines.It's our only hope for making port.None of us can even try to fix thefourth engine now, because theshielding on the pile broke down andradiation is insidiously escaping."

I affected to ponder the question."Well, if it Inust be done, I supposeit must."

"Thank you for your permission,captain," Spanier replied quietly,"although I'm afraid I wouldn'thave waited for it if you'd refused.... All right, men, pick up thatchest and heave it out of the airlock."

"'Vait a minute!" I cried, flyingacross the room and clutching mytrunk fran tically with all six of myappendages. "Don't you dare touchthis box, you - you man!"

Spanier looked at me. Both hiseyes were steady. "In an emergency,ma'am, I'm afraid we can play nofavorites. If necessary, we'll even useforce. The captain's trunk must go

THE CAPTAn.:'S f\IATF.

over ·the side \vith everybody else'sgear."

The others nodded eluphatically."It's about time we sa\V some justicedone on this ship," Deacon saiddarkly.

"But you don't understandl" Ialmost shrieked, "It's not just achest; it has - it is - it's vita/necessary for running the shipl"

Muscat thrust me aside· rudelyand laid a tentacle on the trunk."By God!" he declared, steppingbackward on Deacon's pedal extremity. "Something moved. There'ssomething alive inside!"

"Ouch!" the big man yelped."\'e-ry sinister," he went on. "Let'shave it open and take a look beforewe heave it out."

This was a real emergency! Iturned around and expertly stungthe three of them in rapid succession.They staggered back, groaning. Taking advantage of their temporarydisablement, I pushed them out ofthe control room and bolted thedoor. It would be a matter ofminutes before they blasted theirway back in, but by then I hopedmy problems would be solved - or,at least, taken out of my hands. Ifonly Muscat were right . " ,

Hastily I unlocked the chest. But,if Muscat had been wrong, I was lost, , . we were a1110st.

And, as I threw back the lid, itlooked as if he had been wrong afterall. The pupa inside appeared asbrown and lifeless as it had beenwhen I had tenderly placed it there,

45

If it didn't open no\v it would neverhave a chance to open. "JrisXcha!"I cried, -wildly wringing all of myappendages that I wasn't using tostand on. "JrisXcha! Can you hearme?"

There was a faint stir and arustle, I held my breath. A crackappeared in the cocoon; slowly itgrew wider and wider. I almostfainted with relief as the chrysalissplit open entirely, and JrisXchamy wife - soared out into the control room in a flash of iridescentglory. She had got her wings at last!

"What happened, FkorKo?" shedeluanded, lighting on the instrument panel and staring bewilderedlyaround, "Where am I? All· I remember is that last jug of vriCluat our mating ceremony, and then-wham!"

"You're in the control room ofThe Space Queen," I told her. Andfor a moment I forgot the respectI had promised her at that samemating ceremony, "You fool, youknew perfectly well you \veren'tsupposed to take alcohol of anykind for a week before pupation;your cocoon formed nineteen daystoo later"

"But in that case I wouldn't havebeen an imago by takeoff time," shesaid, too bewildered to take exception to my pertness. "The SpaceQueen would have sailed under another captain, and I would havebeen droned out of the serviceruined, How did I get on it? And,vhat are you doing in my carapace,

46

FkorKor" She began to laugh. "Imust say, you look pretty damnsilly in it."

"I matured in time," I explained,"because I was a clean-living larva,so I took your place. I could getaway with pretending to be you, because the crew are all human-'people, you know; I picked fhemspecially - and the poor fools can'ttell a male shrlang from a female."

My voice broke as the enormityof \vhat I had done suddenly dawnedon me. "B-but, in spite of everything I did, I'm afraid we'll neverreach Methfessel III. I du-did everything I could think of to su-slow theship du-du-down, and I'm a-a-fufraid I su-slowed her do\vn puppup-pup-permanently!"

Now that I no longer had topretend femininity, I could breakdo\vn and indulge in the luxury ofprolonged ululation.

JrisXcha came over and put threeappendages around my - rather,her - chitin. "Brave little fello\v,"she said in a voice choked withemotion. "I don't know what I everdid to deserve a husband like you.,,\11 I can say is, I certainly was avery lucky larva." She t\vined herantenna with mine. "Don't worry,egg; I'll get the ship in shape again- I didn't graduate SU1nma CUln

laude from the Hexapod SpaceAcademy for nothing.... What'sthat noise at the door?"

"Ih - it's the officers," I sobbed."I thu-think they're probably con1ing to thro\v me - us in the brig."

FA~TASY A:"JD SCIE~CE FICTION

She brushed me briefly with herfeelers. "Don't worry, honey, I'lltake care of this. Give me the uniform." I slid out of the carapace.She donned it quickly, while Idraped myself in a sari out of thesilk from her cocoon. Brown \vasn'treally my color, but I couldn'tafford to be choosy.

JrisXcha slipped the bolts on thedoor and flung it open so suddenlythat Deacon and Muscat fell fla t ontheir faces, while Spanier only justmanaged to keep his balance. "Whythe blowtorch, gentlemen?" my wifeasked easily. "Surely a simple knockwould have sufficed. I am not so inaccessible as all tha t. "

Deacon's skin darkened. """Thy,you ..." he began, pointing hisblaster at JrisXcha, as he rose fromthe floor in a half-crouch. I rushedforward, ready to throw myself between then1 and take the charge fullin my thorax.

"'Vait a minute," Spanier restrained the big man. "There aretwo of them now!"

They stared in bewilderment, firstat JrisXcha, then at me, then at thechest, standing open and empty."So that was \vhy she \vouldn't letus jettison the trunk," Muscat saidslo\vly. "The other one \vas in· itall the time. I'm sorry, ma'am; Iwouldn't have been so - so rudeto you if I'd kno\vn you \vere amother."

"I'm not, actually," JrisXcha admitted, "but I hope to be, in thevery near future." She \vas a quick

THE CAPTAIN'S MATE

thinker. "Gentlemen, allow me tointroduce you to my husband,FkorKo." She pulled me to herside with two appendages. I loweredmy eyes modestly, as a dutifulhusband should.

"I'm sorry there ~ad to be allthis mystery, but the whole thingwas a little embarrassing you know:And against regulations. A shrlangspace-officer isn't allowed to bringany member of her family alongwhile he is in - excuse the' expression~ the pupal state. Spousesare supposed to mature at the sametime. Only FkorKo was taken suddenly ill," she said, trying not tocatch my eyes, "and didn't go intothe pupal state when he was supposed to."

"Oh," said Deacon, "he was ina cocoon, huh?"

"But why couldn't you have\vaited until he rnatured before youstarted the trip?" Muscat asked.

"Nothing is supposed to stop anofficer from carrying out his duties.If I'd waited until he became animago, I'd have lost my ship'- andI'd never have got another. I'd havebeen cashiered and both of us wouldhave become creditless outcasts. I dohope that I can trust you not to sayanything about this .. ~ ?"

"I'll see that the men keep it tothemselves, ma'am," Spanier said."If we live to have any tale to tell.The ship's in a pretty sad state."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have whatever'swrong fixed in a trice now ,that Ican put my whole mind on it,"

47

JrisXcha assured him. "You knowhow it is - I was so worried aboutmy husband I just couldn't thinkstraight."

"Of course," Deacon said contritely.

"Gee, I can imagine," Muscatechoed. "If we had only known ..."

I liked them even if they werehuman. They had feelings.

"And we won't hold it againstyou for stinging us," Deacon addedmagnanimously.

"Did I - er - I was so distraughtI just didn't know what I wasdoing." JrisXcha pulled me closeand brushed my antenna _lightlywith hers, although ordinarily sheis not demonstrative in public. "Ihave a wonderful little husband,"she said.

"But why didn't you tell us?"Spanier wanted to know. "No matter ho\v we felt about you, we'dhardly throw out your husband'scocoon."

JrisXcha concealed a smile wi than anterior tentacle. "Well, it wasso hard to put delicately," she said."You know, each life..form has itsown taboos. . . ."

The other men looked reproach..fully at Spanier. His skin reddened"."Sorry, ma'am; I didn't under..stand."

"Quite all right, ,,.. she t9ld himcordially. "You couldn't have beenexpected to know."

I repressed a nervous titter withdifficulty.

"Now," she went on, "I'll just

step do\vn to the engine. room withyou chaps and have everything rightin a jiffy. We shrlangi are unaffectedby radiation, you know.... Youjust wait up here, egg, and, remember, don't put your pretty littletentacles on any of the tnachinery."

"No, honey," I vowed, "I'll nevertouch another piece of machineryagain as long as I live."

My wife confidently led the wayout of the control room. The threehumans follo\ved her dazedly. Thesituation was well in hand.

Spanier was the last out. Beforehe left, he turned and looked at me."Mighty proud to know you, sir,"he said. "Mighty proud." Stretchingout a tentacle - a hand, ratherhe grasped one of my middle ap-

FANTASY A~D SCIE~CE FICTION

pendages in his and vibrated it with,I instantly perceived, amicable intent. "You kno\v, sir," he said, "ifyou're not familar with anotherspecies, sometimes it is hard to tellone sex, let alone one individual,from another. I suppose you havethe same difficulty too. But, whenyou've worked closely with somebody, you get to know them,,vhether they're human or alienand somebody you really know andlike is never an alien." .

He' coughed and I could see thatit was in embarrassment, because hewas no longer an alien either. "WhatI'm trying to say is this," he concluded huskily, "bug or no bug,you're a great little guy ...captain."

The story of the wolves of Cernogra!Z is a simple legend that might haveoccu"ed to any number of writers.," but who save Saki could have told it sowell, or ended it with such precise malice?

crhe J.*lves of Cernograt'{hy SAKI

"ARE THERE ANY OLD LEGENDS AT- story that lends dignity to the placetached to the castle?" asked Conrad without costing anything."of his sister. Conrad was a prosper- "The story is not as you have toldous Hamburg merchant, but he was it," said Amalie, the grey old govthe one poetically dispositioned erness. Everyone turned and lookedmember of an eminently practical at her in astonishment. She. wasfamily. wont to sit silent and prim and

The Baroness Gruebel shrugged faded in· her place at table, neverher plump shoulders. speaking unless someone spoke to

"There are always legends hanging her, and there were few who trouabout these old places. They are not bled themselves to make conversadifficult to invent and they cost tion with her. Today a sudden volnothing. In this case there is a story ubility had descended on her; shethat when anyone dies in the castle continued to talk, rapidly and nervall the dogs in the village and the ously, looking straight in front ofwild beasts in the forest howl the her and seeming to address no onenIght long. It would not be pleasant in particular.to listen to, would it?" "It is not when anyone dies in the

"It would be weird and romantic, castle that the howling is heard. Itsaid the Hamburg merchant. was when one of the Cernogratz

"Anyhow, it isn't true," said the family died here that the wolvesBaroness complacently; "since we came from far and near and howledbought the place we have had proof at the edge of the forest just beforethat nothing of the sort happens. the death hour. There were only aWhen the old mother-in-law died few couple of wolves that had theirlast springtime we all listened, but lairs in this part of the forest, butthere was no howling. It is just a' at such a time the keepers say there

© 1930 by The Viking Press, lnc.;from "The Short Storie.\ of Saki" (H. H. Munro)

49

5°

would be scor~s of them, glidingabout in the shadows and howling inchorus, and the dogs of the castleand the village and all the farmsround would bay and howl in fearand anger at the wolf chorus, and asthe soul of -the dying one left itsboqy· a tree would crash down in thepark. That is what happened when aCernogratz died in his family castle.But for a stranger dying here, ofcourse no wolf would howl and notree would fall.Oh, no. U

There was a note of defiance,almost of contempt, in her voice asshe said the last words. The wellfed, much-too-well-dressed Baronessstared angrily at the dowdy oldwoman who had come forth from herusual and seemly position of effacement to speak so disrespectfully.

"You seem to know quite a lotabout the von Cernogratz legends,Fraulein Schmidt," she said sharply;"I did not know that family historieswere among the subjects you aresupposed to be proficient in."

The answer to her taunt was evenmore unexpected and astonishingthan the conversational outbreakwhich had provoked it.

"I am a von Cernogratz myself,"said the old woman, "that is why Iknow the family hi~tory."

"You a von Cernogratz? You!"came in an incredulous chorus.

"When we became very poor,"she explained, "and I had to go outand give teaching lessons, I tookanother name; I thought it wouldbe more in keeping. But my grand-


father spent much of his time as aboy in this castle, and my fatherused to tell me many stories about it,and, of course, I knew all the familylegends and stories. When one hasnothing left to one hut memories,one guards and dusts them withespecial care. I little thought when Itook service with you that I shouldone day come with you to the oldhome of my family. I could wish ithad been anywhere else."

There was silence when she finished speaking, and then the Baroness turned the conversation to aless embarrassing topic than familyhistories. But afterwards, when theold governess had slipped awayquietly to her duties, there arosea clamour of derision and disbelief.

"It was an impertinence," snappedout the Baron, his protruding eyestaking on a scandalized expression;"fancy the woman talking like thatat our table. She almost told us \vewere nobodies, and I don't believe aword of it. She is just Schmidt andnothing more.' She has been talkingto some of the peasants about the oldCernogratz family, and raked uptheir history and their stories."

"She wants to make herself out ofsome con.sequence," said the Baroness; ~'she knows she will soon bepast work and she wants to appeal toour sympathies. Her grandfather,indeed!"

The Baroness had the usual number of grandfathers, but she never,never boasted about them.

"I dare say her grandfather was a

THE \\10LVES OF CERNOGRATZ

pantry boyar something of the sortin the castle," sniggered the Baron;'~that part of the story may betrue. "

The merchant from Hamburgsaid nothing; he had seen tears inthe old \voman's eyes when shespoke of guarding her memoriesor, being of an imaginative disposition, he though t he had.

"I shall give her notice to go assoon as the New Year festivi ties areover," said the Baroness; "till then Ishall be too busy to manage withouther. "

But she had to manage \vithouther all the same, for in the coldbiting \veather after Christmas, theold governess fell ill.

"It is most provoking," said theBaroness, as her guests sat round thefire O{l one of the last evenings ofthe dying year; "all the time thatshe has been with us I cannot remem ber that she \vas ever seriouslyill, too ill to go about and do her\vork, I mean. i\nd now, when Ihave the house full, and she couldbe us~ful in so many ways, she goesand breaks .do\vn. One is sorry forher, of course, she looks so \vi theredand shrunken, but it is intenselyannoying all the same."

"Most annoying," agreed thebanker's wife sYlllpathetically; "it isthe intense cold, I expect, it breaksthe old people up. I t has been unusually cold this year."

"The frost is the sharpest thathas been known .in December formany years," said the Baron.

51

"And, of course, she is quite old,"said the Baroness; "I wish 1 hadgiven her notice some weeks ago,then she would have left before thishappened to her. Why, Wappi, whatis the matter with you?"

The small, woolly lapdog hadleapt suddenly down from its cushion ahd crept shivering under thesofa. At the same moment an outburst of angry barking came fromthe dogs in the castle-yard, and otherdogs could be heard yapping andbarking in the distance.

"\Vhat is disturbing the animals?"asked the Baron.

And then the humans, listeningintently, heard the sound that hadroused the dogs to their demonstrations of fear and rage; heard a longdra\vn whining ho\vl, rising and falling, seeming at one moment leaguesaway, at others sweeping across thesnow until it appeared to come fromthe foot of the castle walls. All thestarved, cold misery of a frozen\\10rld, all the relentless hunger-furyof the \vild, blended with other forlorn and haunting melodies to whichone could give no name, seemed concentra ted in that \vailing cry.

"\Volves!" cried the Baron.Their music broke for-th in one

raging burst, seeming to come fromeverywhere.

"Hundreds of wolves," said theHamburg merchant, who was a manof strong imagination.

Moved by some impulse whichshe could not have explained, theBaroness left her guests and made

52

her ,vay to the narrO'\i, cheerlessroom where the old governess laywatching the hours of the dyingyear slip by. In spite of the bitingcold of the winter night, the windowstood open. With a scandalized ex·clamation on her. lips, the Baronessrushed forward to close it.

"Leave it open," said the oldwoman in a voice that for all itsweakness carried an air of commandsuch as the Baroness had neverheard before from her lips.

" But you will die of cold!" sheexpostulated.

"I am dying in any case," said thevoice, "and I, want to hear theirmusic. They have come from farand wide to sing the death·music ofmy family. It is beautiful that theyhave come; I am the last von Cerno"gratz that will die in our old castle,and they have come to sing to me.Hark, how loud they are calling!"

The cry of the wolves rose on thestill winter air and floa ted round thecastle walls in long--drawn piercingwails; the old woman lay back onher couch with a look of long..delayed happiness on her face.

"Go away," she said to the Bar..oness; "I am not lonely any more.I am one ofa great old family...."


"I think she is dying," said theBaroness when she had rejoined herguests; "I suppose we must send fora doctor. And that terrible howling!Not for much money would I havesuch death-music."

"That music is not to be boughtfor any amount of money," saidConrad~

"Hark! What is that other sound?"asked the Baron, as a noise of spli tting and crashing was heard.

It was a tree falling in the park.There was a moment of constrained

silence, and then the banker's wifespoke.

"It is the intense cold that issplitting the trees. It is also the coldthat has brought the- wolves out insuch numbers. It is many years sincewe have had such a cold winter."

The Baroness eagerly agreed thatthe cold was responsible for thesethings. I t was the cold of the openwindow, too, which caused the heartfailure that made the doctor's min·istrations unnecessary for the oldFraulein. But the notice in the newspapers looked very well -

"On December 29th, at SchlossCernogratz, Amalie von Cernogratz,for many years the valued friend ofBaron and Baroness Gruebel."

ElseuJhere in this issue you'll find Chad Oliver's ANOTHER KIND (Ballantine) listed as 1955'S best collection of science fiction short stories. Here isa new Oliver to set beside such distinguished entries in that volume asArtifact and Rite of Passage - the latest in Oliver's essays in alienanthropology, posing a dual puz.z.le to the reader: What accounts for thecontradictory culture discovered on Arcturus III ... and what goes on inthe soul of a hard-hitten hureaucrat who must measure the extent of aprimitive people's claim to its own planet?

1'£orth Windby CHAD OLIVER

THE HEAVY GLASS DOORS WHISPERED

apart before him and Norman Mavorwalked out of the hearing room.His formal blue suit was still crisplypressed, his straight gray hair neatlycombed. He moved down the spotless corridor with a firm step.

Except for his eyes, he mighthave passed himself off as a manwithout a care in the world.

His eyes were green - not theshallow green of grass or leaves, butthe deep, translucent green of thesea. The eyes were embedded in alined, craggy face that had seenbetter days, and at the moment theywere more than a little bloodshot.

He looked neither to right norleft, and people kept out of his way.If he heard the barbed commentsthat followed him down the corridorhe gave no outward sign.

He took the private elevator tothe roof and climbed into a copter\vith NORMAN MAVOR discreetly lettered on the sides of the cabin:

Then he waited.He didn't smoke. He didn't fidget.

His eyes were open, looking straightahead, but it was impossible to tellwhat they \vere seeing, if anything.

He just \\raited.Ten minutes later, a balding,

red-faced dynamo of a man can1epanting up the little-ll.sed stairway,waved excitedly, and piled his somewhat globular form into the copternext to ~1avor.

"We tied 'em in circles, Norm,"Karl Hauser chuckled, his multiplechins dancing. "Old Fishface andthe Development boys never knewwhat hit 'em!"

'·You bet," Norman !\1avor said

5.~

54

icily. "We won those guys a quarterof their own planet without firinga shot. Ain't we grand?"

Karl Hauser beamed, undaunted."Save it for the Old Ladies League,"he advised. "You need a drink."

"With that I am in completeagreement. Sky Grotto suit you?"

"They sell alcohol, don't they?"Mavor essayed a smile, not too

successfully, and lifted the copterup into the sunlight that washedNew York in yellow gold.

Two hours afterward, fortifiedby a predominantly liquid lunchtopped by a drowning hamburger,Norman Mavor checked in at hisprivate .office near Lake Success.His grooming was still faultless; onlythe fact that the lines in his facewere less strikingly obvious thanbefore betrayed the lessening of thetension within him.

His office was chiefly notable forits utter lack of curios, gewgaws,knick-knacks, and assorted junkgadgets. I t was clean in its simplicity,and if its stained pine walls andhardwood floors lacked somethingin warmth, they could at least notbe accused of pretense in any form.

There was one photograph onMavor's desk. It was set in a neatsilver frame, and it was a picture of asmug chimpanzee sitting cross-leggedon a box.

The chimp's name was Basil, andthere was a nameplate on the frameto that effect. Basil was one of thefe\v remaining anthropoid apes; the


orang and the gorilla were long extinct, and only a scattering of chimpsand gibbons were left to hold thefort.

There was nothing special aboutBasil, save that Mavor liked theexpression on his face. I t was hardto take yourself too seriously witha chimpanzee on your desk.

Mavor sat down, and waited.In precisely four minutes there

was a knock on his door, whichmeant that someone had succeededin getting past the small 'army of hisassistants to talk to him personally.Mavor loathed the tri-di phone, andseldom answered it.

"Come in," he said.The door opened and a young,

very earnest man hurried in witha folder under his arm.

Enter Prometheus, bearing fire,Mavor thought. He recognized theman: Bill Shackelford, one of thefield data analysts. Aloud, Mavorsaid, "Hello, Bill. How long beforethe end of the world?"

Shackelford blinked, but made afast recovery. "I figure a billionyears, give or take a few hundredmillion. Why?"

Mavor shrugged. "When peoplebarge in here," he said, "it's generally a matter of life or death. Thelot of the Integrator of InterstellarAffairs is not a happy one, as youmay discover if you ever get kickedupstairs into my job."

"I do have something I think youought to see, Mr. Mavor, or I\vouldn't have bothered you."

NORTH \VIND

Mavor nodded sagely. "Let meguess. You have been checking afield report from one of our roverboys, right?"

"Well, yes. That's my job.""And you have discovered some

thing extraordinary, right?"Shackelford sat down, as though

he, had lost some of the wind fromhis sails. "I didn't exactly discoverit, Mr. Mavor - it's in the fieldreport."

"Ah. Let's see now." Mavor tiltedhis old-fashioned swivel chair backand gazed at the ceiling. "One ofthe field men has sturnbled across arare item on - ummmm - CapellaIV should be about due, yes?"

"No," Shackelford said with somerelish. "It's from Arcturus III."

"Arcturus, then. It couldn't havebeen a plain old primitive culture,because that's too common to bringto my attention. It couldn't be anadvanced civilization, in the usualsense, or I'd have heard of it longago. So what does that leave us, Bill?Either a culture past the Neolithicand into an early urban. situation,which might cover the planet without attracting our attention withradio waves or spaceships, or elsewhat?"

"You tell me, ~fr. Mavor.""Okay." Mavor tilted his chair

forward again and put his elbowson the desk. "I'll tell you. Thean thropologist on Arc turus has stumbled across something that looksprimitive, but isn't. How's that?"

"How did you know?" Shackel-

55

ford asked, visibly disappointed."Basil told me," Mavor said, nod

ding toward the photograph. "He'sa very widely read ape."

Shackelford sat quite still, caughtin that maddening impasse of therecently adult male: too old to walkout in a huff, too young to turn thetables with any master-stroke ofdaily diplomacy. "Well," he saidfinally, "I'm sorry I bothered you,since you have such a remarkablesource of information already athand."

Mavor squinted his green eyes,damning himself inwardly for hisabsolute inability to play the buddybuddy to everyone. He rather likedShackelford, he knew thcrt theyounger man would no\v go homeand tell his wife about \vhat a monster the boss was, and he knew thathe had made an enemy. He alreadyhad an ample supply of the latter,but he couldn't function any otherway.

The silence got tighter."I kind of thought you might be

interested," Shackelford said finally,fidgeting on his chair.

"Go ahead and smoke, Bill,"Mavor said, recognizing the symptoms. "I won't throw a tantrum."

Shackelford produced a cigar, ignited it with a puff, and carefullyblew a cloud of smoke into a neutralcorner. Mavor, who had been expecting the inevitable pipe, waspleasantly surprised - mentally, ifnot in an olfactory sense.

"Spill it," Mavor said. "'Vhat

56

hath the Noble Savage come up withthis time around?"

Shackelford flushed and startedpawing through his official folder.

"Skip the technical jargon. Whatever 'you've got on Arcturus III,plain English will bore through tomy addled wits."

The younger man chewed on hiscigar instead of counting to ten."Accqrding to Simpson - he's theanthropologist out there - they'vegot a culture that's still in a huntingand gathering situation as far astechnology goes - no cultivatedcrops or anything - but at the sametime they've got a terrifically complex political set-up."

"How complex is 'terrifically'complex?"

"They've got big ceremonial centers with resident political and religious officials; they run the show,according to Simpson."

"I take it that most of the peopledon't live in these centers?"

"No, most of them are scatteredalong the rivers. They just get together on sacred days and whatnot."

"Sort of like the old Maya?""The Maya were agricultural.""Thank you." Mavor smiled

faintly. "How many people are involved in this deal? One ,tribe?"

Shackelford frowned. "It's hardto tell. I get an impression that it'sa bigger affair than just one tribe."

"You get an impression, hey? Ifyou don't know, say so."

"Okay. I don't know.""What else?"


"Simpson says he's on the track ofsomething big, really big."

"Elephant? Hippo? Dinosaur?"Shackelford retreated behind a

cloud of cigar smoke. "He saysthey've got a lot of dope theyshouldn't have."

"Ah, the Wisdom of the Ancientsrears its ugly head. Are they splittingatoms with their stone axes?"

"Simpson isn't sure; he's just begin~ing his research."

"Ummmm. And what does hesuggest we do about it?"

"More or less the Standard Procedure for cases like this. He wantsus to declare Arcturus III off-limitsfor a one-hundred-year waiting period, until we're certain what it iswe're butting into. The law says -"

"Basil keeps me posted on thelaw. What do you think of all this?"

"May I speak. frankly, Mr.Mavor?"

"I would recommend it highly.""Okay, then. I think this thing on

Arcturus III is one of the most remarkable things I've ever heard of.These people aren't just a bunch ofsavages, Mr. Mavor- they'reunique, they've done something nobody ever managed before." Shackelford leaned forward, his eyes bright."They've earned their" chance. LegaIly, you're their protector onEarth. It's your duty to keep ourpeople off of Arcturus III. That's~

what I think."Mavor didn't change expression.

"At least you're not ambiguous,"he said. "You can go now."

NORTH \VIND

Shackelford hesitated, then. gotup. His face was v:ery white. He putthe folder under his arm and startedout.

"Leave the folder here if you will,please."

He tossed it on the desk ~nd left,clearly flirting with an attack ofhigh blood pressure and buddingulcer~.

Norman Mavor punched the NO

VISITORS button and opened the.folder on his desk. He sat straightbacked in his chair, the crease in histrousers still razor-sharp.

His deep green eyes went to work- patiently, and yet not without akind of steady ruthlessness.

He made occasional neat notes onwhite cards ready for indexing.

The hours passed, and Mavorhardly moved. He felt a cold knottying itself in icy loops in the. pit ofhis stomach.

Night came to the city.On the other side of his office wall,

a dark autumn wind whispered downfrom out of the north.

Mavor had strongly suspectedthat he was in trouble within minute,s after Bill Shackelford hadwalked into his office. It hadn'tbeen any sixth sense that had warnedhim, unless its name was Experience.

A preliminary reading of Simpson's report hadn't made him feelany better.

After three days of study,. he \vascertain.

57

It wasn't the easiest trick in creation for any United Nations brass todisappear for a ~eek' in the country.It was still less simple for one of thebigwigs to walk out for a month, forbusiness was always pressing, andgenerally critical.

No one set off on a junket of 33lightyears unless it was prettydamned important.

Mavor thought Arcturus III wasthat important.

Since he was his own boss, witha twenty-year tenure that nothingless than outright impeachmentcould shake, he got away with it bykeeping his mouth shut until thelast minute, and then leaving redfaced Karl Hauser, his chief. legalexpert, to do his explaining for him.

He lined up a UN space liner overwhich he had jurisdiction, and didsome backstage red-tape cutting toclear it for use. While the ship'snavigation officers were computing afaster-than-light course to ArcturusIII, . he found out what he couldabout Edward Simpson, the anthropologist already in the field.

Simpson's official photographshowed a lean, strong face, somewhatlantern-jawed, with dark hair andeye~. It was a rather ordinary facein the sense that it approached thecuItural ideal of what a face shouldbe; it would have suited anyone of ahost of moderately well-known tri-diactors, but it was not striking enoughto stick in,your mind.

How can you sum up a face inwords?

58

Mavor tagged it as determinedand a trifle cynical, and turned tomore revealing sources of informa-'tion.

Simpson had majored in paleontology as an undergraduate at Harvard, and then s\\'i tched to an thropology for his Ph.D. at the University of Michigan. His academicrecord tended to be spotty - hehad done extremely well in coursesthat interested him, and just enoughto pass in required work that hadn'tcaught his fancy. He'd done a fairlyin teresting dissertation on the prehistoric rela tionships between thesoutheastern United States and theValley of Mexico, and published asolid ethnographic accoun t of anagricultural group on Capella II.

Capable, then, if no ball of fire.He'd grown up in Maine, \vhere

his father was a guide in the gamepreserves along the Canadian border. He'd Inarried a local girl inPatten, and they had one son.

He was thirty-t\vO years old.Anything odd?Anything revealing?Well, he'd once gotten into ,varm

ish \vater by stating publicly thatthe UN was run by a collection ofwindbags, but that was the extentof !:tis subversion, if such it could betermed.

Edward Simpson was either anextremely ordinary young man, orhe had a talen t for keeping his eccentricities to himself. In any event,he _was not likely to have gone offhalf-cocked.

FANTASY A:\".D SCIENCE FICTIO~

He kne\v what he was doing.Mavor spent a day at home saying

goodbye to his \vife, Sue, who bythis time was resigned to the periodic vanishings of her husband. Suewas even-tempered and not overlyimaginative; Mavor had oftendoubted \vhether any other womanwould have put up with him.

The space liner lifted on schedule.Mavor looked into the viewscreen,

and out across the star-blazed midnight that was the sea between theworlds. He saw splendor and loneliness, and the challenge of a universein which man was but one tinymystery in a darkness that had noending.

The ship faded into the gray ofhyperspace.

It was September 1,2°44.

The third planet of Arcturus ,vasa green \vorld, \varmed by a reddishsun.

After contacting Simpson by radiofrom the liner, Mavor boarded alanding launch. The gray spheredrifted down out of the great nightinto a blue sky dotted with whiteclouds. It came to rest as lightly asa soap bubble on the target area.Mavor got out and the spherefloated up toward the sun, and \vasgone.

He \vas alone.He stood by a small crystal-clear

spring that chuckled out from underclean brown rocks. Around him afield of nodding grasses murmured ina fresh, cool breeze. To the east he

NORTH \\'IND

could see blue mountains wrappedin shadows, and from the south hecaught the hint of salt from the sea.

The air was a trifle richer in oxygen than that of Earth, but other\vise identical except for a few traceelements. It had a tang and a sparkleto it. You never really knew freshair, Mavor thought, until youbreathed on a planet that had neverknown heavy industries, where theinternal combustion engine was fiftythousand years away, and smokeonly a s\veet tendril over a campfire....

He stood still, waiting.He showed no outward sign of

nervousness. He didn't smoke, fidget,or pace.

He waited.And yet he was nervous, and was

candid enough with himself to admit it. Partly, it was just the excitement of a new world, a new s~y,

a new frontier. He had seen manynew planets, but he had never gottento them.

Every world was a miracle, ifyour eyes were good enough.

And Arcturus III was more thanthat. It was a mystery and a chal..lenge and a threat.

It was trouble.Here was a culture that lived by

hunting wild animals and gatheringroots and berries in the forest - thesimplest of all economies. And yet,here was a culture ruled by priestkings, who had a power of life anddeath over their people.

Remarkable?

59

'fhe word was impossible.You don't get dense populations

and permanent settlements whenyou get your food by hunting for it,except under the most atypical conditions. If the population of Ne\vYork had to eat by hunting deerand rabbits, most of the peoplewould starve in nothing flat. If youhunt, you can't park in one placeand wait for the game to jump intoyour pot - you have to go after it.

Most hunting peoples lived insmall bands of per~aps one hundredmen, women, and children. Therewere no sharply defined social classes,and certainly no kings. You've gotto have surplus food to support nonproducing specialists, and famine isa constant threat when you hunt forlife. At the most, you might finda shaman or two, and a vaguelydefined headman without any formal authority.

No chiefs, generally.Kings?Priests?Vast ceremonial centers?About as likely as a snake running

a digital computer.The cool breeze sighed through

the tall grasses. Mavor waited.The world of Arcturus III didn't

play by the rules, and that meantdanger. Simpson had stumbledacross something that looked verymuch like a big fat monkey wrenchin the gears. It wasn't the first timeit had happened, of course - peoplehad a nasty habit of being unpredictable occasionally.

60

But this time -"Mavorl Are you there?" The

call came from the south, still fain twith distance.

"At the spring, SimpsonI" Mavoryelled.

A small cloud blotted out the sun,and the wind had a cold edge to it.

Mavor stood quietly, and \vaited.

Edward Simpson parted the tallgrass and stepped forward.

Superficially, he looked like hispicture; his features were regular,dominated by a stubborn jaw. He\vas thinner than Mavor expected,and more nervous. His dark evesseemed only half-open, but he did~'tappear sleepy by any means.

Wa1y.The \vord popped into Mavor's

mind, and stayed there.The two men shook hands."I didn't expect a visit from the

big bogs himself," Simpson said rapidly. "Lucky I keep my radio onmy wrist or I might have missedyour call. What brings you to Arcturus III?"

'·'A spaceship, generally," Mavorsaid.

"I meant -""Never mind, Ed. Just a speech

defect of mine. Looks like you hitthe jackpot around here, and I kindof thought I'd wander out and helpyou count the quarters. Where arethey?"

"How much time have you got?""Enough. ""Well, the Lkklah~ that's \vhat


they call themselves -live south ofhere, most of them. Lkklah means'people,' of course-"

"Toward the sea?""Generally, yes." Simpson offered

Mavor a cigarette; when Mavorshook his head Simpson took onehimself and returned the pack to hispocket.

"How many of them are there?""At least thirty thousand, ,if my

census is accurate. That doesn'tcount the other tribes around here."

"There are some people who don'thave this hotshot culture on thehunting base, then?"

"That's right. It isn't planetwide;I don't know the full extent of ityet. "

"Fair enough. Let's take a ganderat 'em."

"They move around a lot, Mr.Mavor-"

"You nlean those huge ceremonial centers have got wheels onthem?" Mavor surveyed the anthropologist with bland greep eyes.

Simpson laughed. "I don't thinkso. But most of the people are scattered in hunting groups, and they'rea little shy of strangers."

"I see. Your report mentionedresident officials in the big centers,I believe. Are they out to lunch?"

Simpson threw one cigarette intothe spring and Ii t another. "They goon pilgrimages; I haven't got theexact cycle worked out yet. They'llbe in one- center or another, but I'dhate to take you on a long wildgoose chase."

1'lORTH \YIl"O

"That would raise certain problems," Mavor admitted.

Simpson stared at him, trying tofind some sort of an expression toread. He couldn't find one. Hestarted to say something, then contented himself with a shrug.

"Let's go," Mavor said.Simpson turned and led the way

through the grass. .He set a fast pace, heading south.Norman Mavor smiled, just a lit

tle, and follo,ved him toward thedistant sea.

Evening flo~ved down the saltwind from the ocean, and delicaterose-tinted clouds hung on the western horizon. Then the sun was gone',and the' night turned the worldinto a shadow.

There was no moon, but the starlight was a silver radiance in the sky.

It was cold, and Mavor jammedhis hands into his pockets to keepthem warm.

Neither man spoke., The croaking of frogs and thepersistent, irritating whine of someinvisible animal blended in with theshuffle of their footsteps.

There was no other sound.The terrain .beneath their feet

became rocky and a thorny vegetation pushed out the grass. Then theground softened and they heard thesibilant glide of water. They cameto a good-sized river, black withsilver flecks under the stars, andfollowed a path that wound alongits banks.

61

It ,vas almost morning when theysaw it.

In spite of himself, Mavor stoppedshort and caught his breath.

There, framed by the dark fenceof the vegetation and frozen in thepale light of dawn, was magic. Noman with an ounce of poetry in hissoul could have seen it merely as a"ceremonial center."

Here was a hall where the godsmight dance, and spirits sigh downthe wind.

You thought at once of pyramids,but that was force of habit. Thestructures - there four of them- were square and massive, likeblocks of basalt ripped from thedepths of a world. They wer(! terraced, with rock stairways cut intotheir sides.

How big were they?Mavor reined in his imagination

and estimated: sixty feet high, atleast, and perhaps eighty feet on aside. And there were smaller structures on top of them - temples ofsome kind, beyond a doubt.

There were courtyards, altars,market squares.

The place was deserted, but thesilence .that hung over it was notthe silence of centuries.

The place was used."Well?" asked Simpson, not with

out an edge of malice. His voice wasas startling as a rifle shot in thestillness.

"It's magnificent," Mavor saidquietly. Then: "Anyone home?"

"I don't think so. We'll look-

these places aren't booby-trapped."They walked through the court

yards, and peered in to the buildings.They \vere pitch black inside, buta match showed the extent of therooms. They were amazingly smallconsidering the size of the exteriors;the construction \\las impressive, butnot overly efficient.

Thev sa,v no one, and heardnothing.

"Gone to the \Vorld Series,"Mavor cOlnmented.

"They're elusive, sometimes.They may be back here today, ornot for months."

"I'll leave my card. I still ,vantto see the people who built thisplace-, Ed."

"Ho\v about some sack-timefirst?" Silnpson asked, yawning. "It'scomfortable inside the squares, ifyou don't mind rock mattresses."

"I don't mind," ~1avor said.They ducked inside one of the

entrances and stretched out on thefloor. Mavor was asleep in seconds,but whenever Simpson stirredMavor's green eyes opened, andwaited.

They slept six hours. Mavor wouldhave preferred to breakfast on synthetics, but Simpson insisted onshooting a deerlike animal in thebrush and broiling up some steaks.

The food \vas ,vorth the extra\vait.

I t was afternoon before they leftthe ceremonial center and struckout along the river path, headingsouth. l~hey did not see a single

FA:\TASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

human being. Mavor did noticethat the river was full of fish; theylooked like salmon or trout leapingin the rapids. He filed that factaway for future 'reference.

There was a glazing sunset, andthen a growing chill as eveningfaded into night.

There ,vere still no people.Mavor didn't complain. He \valked

along behind Simpson, who had runaut of cigarettes and was gettingmore nervous by the minute. Mavorwas tired, but he was ready to walkaround the whole damned planet ifnecessary.

At the Earthly equivalent ofthree o'clock in the morning, Silnpson stopped.

Mavor waited."I'll try a signal," Simpson said.It's about tin1e, Mavor thought,

trying to ignore his swollen feet.Simpson let out. a long, Inoder

ately blood-curdling yell, and followed it with three short yips.

"Thank you, Tarzan of the Apes,"complimented Mavor.

In seconds, there was an ans\ver.One long cry, three shorter ones.About half a mile away, Mavor

judged."Let's go," Simpson said.They \vent.

It took theln almost an hour,scrambling over rocks and gettingtheir clothes ripped by thorns.

The camp lay before them, ghostlike in the foggy gray of early morning. I t ,vas IittIe more than a low

NORTH \VIXD

fire and a circle of crude lean-tos a sleeping place that a month'swinds and rains would erase from theface of the planet.. There were three dogs, all yelp..Ing.

Mavor counted seventeen people,most of them near"naked, but withskin cloaks against the cold. Notailored clothing, then. He saw somespears and dart-throwers, but nobows.

It looked like an extended familygroup, and it probably was.

Simpson spoke to 'pne old man ina native language; Mavor couldn'tget a word of it, of course, but helistened atten~ively. Learning nativelanguages was no picnic in the bestof circumstances, and out of thequestion for an official who had tokeep tabs on many cultures, onmany worlds.

The old man ,vas delighted to seethem. He laughed and clapped hishands together. He pulled them overto the fire and insisted that they eatsome meat - which wasn't badand a kind of cold wild vegetablepaste, which would have made theproverbial Duncan Hines beat ahasty retreat with all guns blazing.

The four "vornen kept to them:selves, although the younger girlswere friendly enough. The men andboys swarmed around them, all chat~tering a mile a minute, anQ it wasdifficult to concentrate on anything.

Mavor kept his eyes open, how..ever, and he took notes.

, The day passed rapidly. Both

Mavor and Simpson "vere on theweary side by evening, but thenatives were hell-bent on hospitality. The men had snared an animalthe size of a buffalo during the after..noon, and that was a fine excuse fora feast.

Mavor and Simpson pitched inand helped with the fire, much tothe amusement of the women.

It developed that half-raw kid..neyswere considered the real de..ligh ts here, and the visitors chokedthem down with a somewhat palesmile.

There ,vas singing - a monoto"nous chanting .of the same syllablesover and over again, to the ticktick-tick of bones tapped gentlyagainst two flat rocks. It wasn'tpretty, but it was hypnotic.

And, somehow, it was sad;Late that night, when the orange

fires were low and the shadows were-soft and close, Simpson leaned overto Mavor. The natives were off ona story-telling binge, most of which\vas too rough linguistically even forSimpson.

Simpson's usually sleepy eyes wereopen wide now, and alert in the fire"light.

"These people have a saying," he\vhispered.

Mavor waited."They say that in the spring the

winds blow from- the south, and 4'thetrees and flowers and people will liveforever. But when autumn comesthe northwind blows; the leavesturn brown and fall, and .~he peopl~

kno,v that they too must die.Listen!"

A night wind sighed through thebrush and twisted the flickeringflames.

Even here, so close to the sea,the wind came out of the north, andit ,vas cold.

"Goodnight," Simpson said, andstretched out on the ground andclosed his eyes.

Mavor sat silently, listening to thevoices and the wind.

It \vas late \vhen he. slept.,

In the morning, after a stomach..searing breakfast, Mavor turned toSimpson.

"I've got news for you," he said."Well?""I may not be an anthropologist,

Ed, but I wasn't born yesterday,either. These people are not theLkk1ah you were telling me about.They are just what they seem to be- a band of semi-nomadic hunters.I don't know who they are, and Idon't care. They didn't build thoseceremonial centers any n10re than Idid."

Simpson eyed him narrowly, butsaid nothing.

"I don't mind games, son," 11avorsaid. ~"If you want to walk me for ahundred years, that's your business.But I'ln going to see these Lkklahof yours before I leave this planet.Why don't you stop being so damnedclever and get it over with?"

Simpson hesitated, shrugged, andsaid something to the native head·


man. Then, without a \vord, hewalked away into the brush, headingback toward the river.

Mavor tagged along after him,and did not look back.

They reached the sparkling riverand continued south along the path.Simpson I set a killing pace, butMavor didn't complain. He justwatched the river, and noted thefish leaping in the shallows.

Within four hours they hit astand of sweet-smelling trees tha tlooked like cedars. The slnell of sal twas strong in the heavy air, andMavor thought he could hear thesea.

The path through the treesclimbed steeply, and then theyrounded a turn and the land droppedoff sharply before them. The viewwas excellent, and Mavor sawall heneeded to see.

He stopped.Below them was the sea, almost

black beneath a cold gray sky. Between the sea and the rocky cliffthey stood on was a stretch of timberperhaps a quarter of a mile wide.

The village was in the trees.This time it was no simple hun t

ing camp. There were solid plankhouses, and lots of them. There werehundreds of people visible, all ofthem well-dressed in tailored clothing. There were large, graceful sea"going canoes drawn up along thebeach.

The houses extended along theshore as far as the eye could see.Thousands of people could have

NORTH WIl';D

been taken care of without anystrain at all.

There \vere no cultivated fieldsthat I\1avor could spot.

But there were rivers.He counted ten of them from

where he stood, winding throughthe cliffs and emptying into the sea.

He turned to Simpson."These are the Lkklah?""Some of them. Yes.""1"hese are the people \vho built

the ceremonial centers back yonder?""Yes."Mavor studied the younger man

\vith his cool green eyes. "Maybeyou'd like to sit do\vn," he said.

"You're not going into the village, after coming all this \vay?"

"No need for that, Ed."A vein began throbbing insistently

in Simpson's forehead."Say what you've got to say,

Mavor.""Maybe you'd rather tell me.""Tell you what?""Oh hell, man." r..1avor almost

seemed irritated, but recovered himself. He sat down on a boulder, hisunhandsome face lined and tired.

"I don't know wha(you're talkingabout."

"Okay, Ed." Mavor clasped hishands and rested his chin on histhumbs. "We'll put it in teensyweensy little words so there'll be nomistake. Don't you I{now it's a seriouscrilne to fake your data?"

The scent of the trees was freshand clean around them, and the beat

65

of the sea was the pulse of unhurriedcenturies.

But now ugliness was / ~etweenthem on the cliff.

The silence stretched taut.For a long minute, Mavor thought

that Simpson was going to try tobrazen it out, even now. But theyounger man suddenly slumped andturned. his back.

The battle was over."How'd you know?" Simpson

asked, his voice muffled."It's my job to know, Ed. You

were too vague with the crucialdetails in your report. Any timea miracle crosses my desk, pal, I\vant photographs, statistics, ..and ananalysis sOlnewhat above the sophomoric level."

Simpson turned, his eyes narrowed. "I wasn't that crude. I saidthere \vere complex ceremonial centers, and there \vere. I said thesepeople had no agriculture, and theydon't. "

"Bunk," Mavor said bluntly."You know as well as I do that itisn't the simple technological levelthat's important - it's the ·totalecological situation. If you've gotplenty of food, and it's reliable, itdoesn't make a damn bit of differ-ence where you got it from. If you'vegot the food, you get the population.If you get the population, a complexsocial structure is possible - thoughnot inevitable. If your social organization is complex enough, you getspecialists freed from food production - and you can build your

66

temples, carve your totem poles,and generally raise hell."

"Thanks for the lecture.""You're welcome. Look, son,' the

old Indians on the Northwest Coastof North America had exactly thesame deal you've got here. No agriculture, but streams chock-full ofsalmon - and just about the mostcomplex prehistoric culture northof Mexico. Lots of the Plains Indianshad no agriculture, but they hadhorses, and they had the bison."

"Yeah, yeah. I know all that.""Good. That means you knew

what you were doing. You didn'tjust make a mistake - you lied inyour teeth."

Simpson clenched his fists, butdidn't move.

"You were sent to Arcturus IIIto survey the culture here. It's my'job to allocate land for Earth colonies on other planets like this one.I depend on. t~e reports you guyssend in. So what do you do? Youstumble over this jnt~resting dealwhere there's a pretty elaborateculture based on a river networkthat's choked with 'fish. They go andbuild some impressive squares out inthe brush. It's great stuff, but there'snothing mysteriou's about it, andyou know it. Just the same, youconcoct this cock-and-bull storyabout the Wisdom of the Ancientsand advise us to keep hands-off for ahundred years. You admit allthis?"

Simpson shrugged."Okay, Ed. Now, I'm curious as


hell. What in the devil did youthink you were doing - and whydid you do it?~'

Simpson took a deep breath. "Youwouldn't understand - not unlessyou knew the Lkklah. If you'dcome with me down into the vil~

lage -""I don't want to know the Lkklah

- and I don't want to wind up in astewpot, either."

The look in Simpson's eyes nowwas neither regret nor fear.

It was hate."I thought I was getting a hun..

dred years of peace for some peopleI liked," he said evenly. "I did it todo them a favor, and if you don'tlike it I don't give a damn."

Mavor got up, his green eyes nar"rowed with anger.. "You did it to dothem a favor," J1e repeated. "Yousimple~minded jackass."

Simpson started for him.Mavor stood up straight, a trace

of a smile on his lips. He lookedSimpson right in the eye and waited.

Simpson stopped."It's too late now," Simpson said

wearily. "You'll get your lousyplanet no matter what I do."

"Exactly," Mavor said.Mavor punched the stud on his

wrist radio which threw a beam tothe satellite transmitter and thento the waiting space liner. The land~

ing sphere would pick him up whereit had set him down.

"What happens now?" Simpsonsaid. "Do I go back in the brig onbread and \vater?"

NORTH \VIND

"You do your job," Mavor saidshortly. "I'll make it back to thespring."

Simpson frowned. "You don't"luean -

"Don't tell me \vhat I mean and\vhat I don't mean. You're an anthropologist and you were hauledout here at considerable expense todo a job: establish the land-use pat~

terns of the highest culture onArcturus III. Do your job, and thistime do it right. I'll decide what todo about you when I see what yourfieldwork looks like - and this timelet's have some facts."

"I'm not sure I care to do yourdirty work for you," Simpson said."These people are my friends -"

'~Do it or go to jail," Mavor said.The older man turned and started

back along the trail, the north windin his face. It was a long \vay back tothe pickup point, and he wasted notime on backward glances.

Edward Simpson stood for almostan hour where he "vas, facing thesea.

There were tears in his eyes."The bastard," he said, over and

over again. "The dirty, blind, selfright~ous bastard."

Then, very slowly, he starteddown toward the plank houses andthe laughter of the people who hadbeen his friends.

The trip from i\rcturus III toEarth was uneventful.

On November 21, 2044, NormanMavor was back in his office. His

67

formal blue suit was neatly pressed,his straight gray hair faultlesslycombed. His green eyes were calmand patient.

He -looked a little older; that wasthe only-change.

"Well, Basil," he said to thecross-legged chimpanzee, "here \vego again."

He flipped a s\vitch."Send in Bill Shackelford," he

said, and smiled a little.He waited.Shackelford got there in ten nlin

utes flat. He was smoking a cigarwhen he came in, and he had evidently fortified himself with a shotof bottled courage.

"I guess this is where I get. the oldheave-ho," Shackelford said. Helooked like he hadn't been sleepingany too well.

"I considered it," Mavor said.Shackelford carefully took the

cigar out of his mouth. "Can methen, Mr. Mavor. I made a mistake,I admit that. But I'm not doing anycrawling."

Mavor raised his evebrows."You've already' heard about Arcturus III, I take it?"

"\Vord gets around."Mavor nodded. "Unfortunate bus~

iness, Bill. But Simpson just madean honest mistake; it could havehappened to anyone. I don't firepeople for making mistakes, Bill."

"You said -""I said I had considered firing you.

I didn't say what for.""Are you asking me a riddle?"

68

"Hardly." Mavor tilted his chairback. "I want you to take charge'ofworking up the new data fromArcturus Ill; we've got about twoyears before the hearing. I want youto make absolutely certain thosenatives don't get one inch moreterritory than they're entitIed tounder the law. Will you do it?"

Shackelford sat down. He lookedblankly at his cigar, then slipped itinto the disposer.

"It's a dirty job," he said finally."I'm glad you think_ so.""You Olean I'm not firedr'"Not yet." Mavor reached into a

desk drawer and pulled out themorning's New York Times, foldedto the editorial page. "Did you seewhere I got my name in the paperagain?"

"I saw," Shackelford said, cau"tiously.

"The usual rave notice," Mavorobserved. rle cleared his throat."Norman Mavor, Integrator of Inter..stellar Affairs, returned yesterday fromanother junket, this time to ArcturusIII. He announced with evident pridethat he had managed to obtain legalrights to yet another planet for colonization. This man, whose job it is toprotect the rights of extraterrestrialnatives, has shown a consistent disregard for the very natives he is swornto support. It seems safe to say that noman on this planet has done more torob native peoples of their homelandsthan Norman M avor. . . .". "I read it," Shackelford said.

"And agreed, no doubt." Mavor


put the paper away. "I think Ishould start a scrapbook."

"You don't like natives, do you?"Shackelford said, almost in spite ofhimself.

"Not particularly," Mavor ad...mitted.

"And you want me to go overArcturus III with a fine-toothedcomb, to grab all we can get."

"Exactly.""You know most of the planet

will be occupied by simple huntingpeoples. That means they won'thave private ownership of land only vague band territories, and afew water-holes. Even the Lkklah,from what I've heard, won't havemuch beyond a coastal strip and afew acres of bush."

"That's right. Legally, the peopleof Arcturus III don't own theirworld at all- they just own a fe\vsquare miles of it. 'vVe do.give themtheir hunting territories, and marginal safety zones as ,veIl. We keepout trespassers. Don't you thinkthat's pretty generous?"

Shackelford' began to get very redin the face. "I think it shows acolossal gal!!" he said, his voicelouder than he .had in tended."What's the matter with you? Whatdo you use instead of a heart - acake of ice?"

Mavor actually smiled. "Loyaltyfrom one's subordinates is alwaystouching," he said.

Shackelford got up and beganwaving his arms. "You don\t haveto fire me, Mavor. I quitl"

XORTH \VIND

"Never mind," Mavor said. "Sitdown."

Shackelford looked in to the greeneyes, hesitated, and sat down.

Mavor sized his man up, and",~ondered.

'Vas Bill ready?Or did he need more time, like

Simpson?He looked do\vn at his desk, al

most embarrassed. He found it hardto go on.

But he was no longer young, andhe was tired.

"Bill," he said softly, "do youknow why I almost fired you?"

Shackelford, uncertain what rolehe was playing, just ~hook his headnumbly.

Mavor hunched forward, for onceforgetting the neat press on hisclothes. "You came busting in herea few months back with what youthought was a real ding-dong lulu,like the artists of Centaurus VI. Youthought we really had something,and ·do you kno\v what you said tome?"

Shackelford shook his head again."These people aren'tjust a bunch of

savages, Mr. Mavor - they're unique,they've done something nobody evernlal1aged before."

Shackelford flushed. "I didn't"mean-

"Yes, you did. You meant thatthose people were exceptional, andentitled to special treatment. Notjust a bunch of savages, as you socharmingly phrased it."

"Well-"

69

"Well, they weren't anything special. Most people aren't. They werejust plain old dirty people. No telepaths, no human spaceships, no childsupermen with wet diapers. Isn'ttha t a crashing shqme?"

"Look, you said you didn't evenlike natives. You've squeezed 'emout of every last square foot -"

"Oh, drop dead." Mavor rumpledhis gray hair with his gnarled fingers."I said I didn't like natives particularly. I don't. I'm· just old-fashionedenough, just unsophisticated enough,so that I kind of admire humanbeings in general. I don't give adamn whether they're primitives orlive in New York - or both. Theodd notion that a man has to besome kind of freak before he's worthanything gives me a royal pain inthe sacrum."

"But -""Listen, Junior," Mavor said.

"This is the old inhuman monstertalking, and he may gobble you aliveif you don't pay attention. It's onlybeen a. few stinking hundred yearssince primitive peoples were thoughtof as animals, and hunted do\vn withdogs. This whiz- bang technologicalculture of ours is still expanding and if you think one starry-eyedgent can stop it with his mightyidealistic soul you've got rocks inyour head. We've got laws now thatgive them some protection at least.Sure, I think they should be letalone to live as they please. Weshould keep out. Maybe we shouldhave kept out of America, too, but

7°we didn't. It may be news to you,Bill, but I am -not the United- Na..tions. I'm just a civil servant witha nasty job."

'''You could get out -"Mavor laughed. It was a strange

sound. "Would it help those peopleout there if you had my job?" OrSimpson, he thought. That trick ofhis would have been uncovered withinfive years - and then what would havebecome of the LkkJah? "Suppose allthe people here were positive youwere cheating a little in favor of thealiens. That's the way they think ofthem, you know - as aliens. Believe me, it's better this way."

Shackelford stood up, visiblyshaken. "But why don't you tellpeople? Why do you let them-"

Mavor jerked his thumb towardthe door. "Run along," he said.

Shackelford left.Norman Mavor was very tired.He shook a finger at the picture of

the chimpanzee on his desk. "Basil,"he said, "you're a fraud. Beneaththat hairy exterior there beats aheart of purest gold."

He hated the lectures; they werethe toughest part.

"Hooray for me," he whispered,and \vondered.

Two years later, in December,they held the hearings concerningArcturus III.

The copter with NORMAN MAVOR

discreetly lettered on the cabin sidesfloated down through a flurry ofsnow and landed on the roof of the

FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTluN

Adjudication Building. Mavor andKarl Hauser, his balding legal expert, climbed out.

The wind was cold behind thedriven snow.

"When autumn comes the northwind blows," Mavor said. "Theleaves turn brown and fall, and thepeople know that they too mustdie...."

"What the hell is that, old man?""Some poetry I heard once. Noth

ing important. Let's go."They rode the private elevator

down, and then walked along thespotless corridor. Mavor's green suitwas crisply pressed, and not a hair onhis head was out of place. He walkederect, and his deep green eyes lookedneither to the right nor to the left.

"I figure we can argue Old Fishface out of a quarter of the planet,"Karl said jubilantly. "Not bad."

"Oh, we're hot stuff," Mavorsaid.

Some people recognized him, andthere were the usual whispered caicalls.

Mavor gave no sign that he hadheard.

The heavy glass doors of the hear..ing room hissed open.

The Colonial Development Com"mittee was waiting.

Together, their briefcases undertheir arms, Mavor and Karl Hauserwalked into the chamber.

"Give 'em hell," Karl Hauserwhispered. .

"I'll do my best/' said Mavor.

crhe Science Screenhy CHARLES BEAUMONT

l~lIE PICKINGS ARE LEAN INDEED THIS

quarter, but indications are that thisis only the column before the stonn.Hollywood' appears to have reappraised either the public or its ownapproach to science fiction, for allstudios have announced plans forbigger, better, and different s. f.films, with the emphasis on different. Of course, this may be somuch wishful thinking on the partof the blatherskites in the publicitydepartments, but a glance at theproperties in various stages of pre'para tion inclines one toward optimism. At Universal-International,for instance, Richard ~1atheson's

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (tobe published by Gold Medal on theheels of the picture's release) isreceiving what may be termed StarTreatment: a full-scale budget, topof-the-bill quality, and importantplayers. The story is very definitelyscience fiction, but it will not be solabeled in any of the advertising;and this is, to my mind, a significantstep forward. The public has cometo equate the term with subliterate'trash (all thanks to the idiociesperpetrated by Hollywood in thepast four or five years) and itspresence in connection with any

motion picture, however excellent,is probably the kiss of death. If20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA hadcarried the iden tifica tion forthrightly, perhaps this wouldn't b~

so; but it did not, and it is. And isthe loss so great, actually? I don'tbelieve so. I believe, instead" thatwe stand to gain itnmeasurably; thatthis decision may very well open

.the door wide for a return k> betterdays. If the only way we are going toget good science fiction pictures. isto deny that they are science fiction, then hadn't we best turntraitor at once? (Together, now:Down with sf!)

The U-I Generals have set anotherprecedent, by the way, and it isgood news to readers and authors;particularly to authors. For the firsttime in the history of motion pictures, a studio has hired a sciencefiction writer to script his ownbook. Matheson, well known toF &SF followers as one of the bestpractitioners in the field, is presently finishing up the screenplaybased on his novel; and if they donot turn it over to a "script doctor,"he will be the first to see his owncreation solo all the way through.It is an important experiment and

71

72

one which a lot of people will bewatching carefully. For -there is alegend in Hollywood, to the effect:There is no one less equipped toturn a novel into a movie than thatnovel's author. The theory is interesting. I t is predicated on thenotion that screen-writing and fiction -writing are two separate anddistinc t mediums, each calling for aspecial set of talents. A man who iscapahIe of creating firstra te films,states the theory, may be unable tocrack the lowliest pulp; conversely,a Nobel Prizewinner may not havethe foggiest idea of what it takes tomake a good motion picture. Unfortunately, this is not so absurd asit sounds. At one studio, namelesshere and forevermore, the self-styled"kept hacks" are still buttering theiregos with the story of a worldfamous Author who was hired toconfect a ~~reenplay about one ofhis acclaimed short stories. ThisAuthor, who once wrote outstanding s.f. but moves today- in rathermore mystic circles, was accorded,the Respect Due Him. "Now, listen,you guys," the chief producer wassupposed to have snarled to his stableof hacks, "this here is a real honestto-God Author. He writes books andstories, see? So'" I don't want nohorsing around. And everybodywears ties while he's here!" Thepoor Author was given one of theplush bungalows usually occupiedby visiting royalty. He was alsogiven two dozen sharpened pencils,the best secretary in the joint, and


five reams of good paper. He wasnever called in for story conferences.His bosses were too awed or em~

barrassed to check on his progress after all, hadn't he been listed rightalong with George Bernard Shawas one of the greatest prose stylistsof our time? He was left strictlyalone, and in five weeks he broughtin th~ finished treatment. The producers read it. Their jaws fell. Theyblinked. As one old-timer put it:"Man, you wouldn't believe it! Thiswas the worst piece of tripe anybody had eve.r seen. Here they paidthis guy a fortune and gave himthe old red carpet treatment, and itturns out he hadn't so much as seena movie for ten years.!"

The Author was eased out verydiplomatically, but with great firmness. His memories of the experience are cloudy and indistinct, it'ssaid. But to the people who hiredhim, there is no confusion. To themit was simply a dreadful mistakefrom beginning to end, and one theywouldn't repeat soon. They scrappedthe treatment, put one of their"physicians" on it and came up witha nice, bad, money-making picture.And there have been enough similarincidents to give the theory somejustification.

On the other hand, it can cer"tainly be argued that no one knowsmore about a book than the book'sauthor, and that he ought to be hiredat least for the first draft. In thecase of writers who are, in Holly·\vood parlance, "out there" (that is,

THE SCI ENCE SCREEN

too intellectual- or limited - tothink visually) .it would seem asimple measure to team them withothers who are versed in motionpicture technique. That way, bothfronts would be covered.

For myself, I am not convincedthat the mediums are that disparate.In my position as script analyst fora motion picture studio, I have hadan opportunity to read literallyhundreds of screenplays. I have justread Richard Matheson's screenplay;and it is as fine, and professionallypolished, a job of craftsmanship asanyone could reasonably ask. Infact, if it is followed, I think we maylook forward to one of the bestscience fiction pictures ever made.

I t makes one wonder how suchfilms as THE THING (Who GoesThere?) or THIS ISLAND EARTH orTHE TWONKY might have turned outif the original authors (Campbell,Jones and the Kuttners) had beenallowed to do the scripts.

Against all advice, and my betterjudgment, I went to see KING DINO

SAUR, (Lippert), and am still somewhat alarmed at the fun I had. Irecommend it for one excellent reason: It is not only the worst s.f.picture ever made (and that includes CONQUEST OF SPACE, RED

PLANET MARS, and ROBOT MONSTER),

but also without question the worstpicture of any sort ever made, in allrespects. A blessed veil of forgetfulness' has spared me any specificmemories, except an absolutely hi...

73

larious battle between a Gila monster and a baby alligator. The Gilamonster is, of course, supposed tobe the Dinosaur. What the babyalligator is supposed to be, I couldn'tsay. (Two gentlemen named Al Zim~balis t and Bert I. Gordon collaborated, if that is the word, on thestory; Bert I. Gordon directed.)

TARANTU-LA! (Universal-Inter...national) is rousing' good fun, andmakes no effort to disguise itself asanything but what it is: a juvenilespook sho\v - only with a giantspider instead of a bogeyman. Thestory is right off the cob, but necessarily so, and it does not impedethe general merriment. Scientistsworking in th~ desert have de...veloped a nutrient with which theyinject various animals - and thetarantula of course --- causing fantastic growth in a matter of days.In the natural course of events, thespider escapes into the' desert, andwe're off to the chases. So that thespecial effects department is kepthopping, we have a sub-plot whereintwo- of the scientists inject themselves with the nutrient, with lessthan happy results. The spider isless repellent than its smaller kin,oddly, -but there are many nice,horrible moments, and the wholething adds up to an enjoyable wayto kill an hour or so. Robert M.Fresco and Martin Berkeley wroteit, Jack ·Arnold (who is to do THE

INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN) directed it. John Agar and MaraCorday are decorative, while Leo

74

G. Carroll (TV's Topper) suppliesthe only real acting. He is quitegood, and obviously had a fine time.

In the case of ULYSSES (Pontide Laurentiis) we have so manyculprits that it is impossible to fixthe blame on anyone in particular.The producers, Dino de Laurentiisand Carlo Ponti, apparently believethat quantity equals quality, andso they hired as many screenwritersas they could get their hands on.Those who received credit (by nomeans an accurate guide to thenumber who actually worked on thescript) are listed in alphabeticalorder; Franco Brusati, Mario Camerini, Ennio de Concini, HughGray, Ben Hecht, IVo Perilli~ andIrwin Shaw. I am told that the manresponsible for the final dialogue isnowhere mentioned, but'if true thisis just ·as well for him, because thepicture is exactly what you'd expect with all those thumbs in thepie. Based on one of the most excit..ing of all fantasy classics, it managesto be dull, obscure, pretentious,and utterly foolish. The ·first sin is,I think, the least forgivable. Howanyone could make a dull film fromTHE ODYSSEY is beyond imagination,but it has been done: the entirebusiness is a thumping bore. Ulysseshimself emerges less a hero than arascally soldier of fortune, cut fromthe same hunk of cheese as FlashGordon and Steve Canyon, onlynot quite so virtuous as either, andconsiderably less bright. A miracleof miscasting put Kirk Douglas in

FANTASY A~D SCIENCE FICT.I0:-.r

the role, and though he looks thepart to an eyelash, he plays it as ifhe had just wandered in from theset of a prize-fighting Inovie. He isthe only one, besides AnthonyQuinn, whose speeches are· notdubbed in; but he gives if anythingan even stranger effect. Ulysses herespeaks with a Bronx dialect, whilethe others are from the Old Vic. AsPenelope and Circe, Silvana Mangano demonstrates that versatilityis not one of her accomplishments.She's pretty enough to look at, butexpressionless throughout. AnthonyQuinn slips in and out so fast youdon't notice him. It is all verydepressing, as, say, the joined chapters of a Superman serial would bedepressing.

Progress Report: Universal-International will soon have a trio of s.f.thrillers ready for our sore eyes:THE HIDDEN VALLEY (scripted byLaszlo Gorog), THE DEADLY MANTIS

(assigned to Martin Berkeley), and,as predicted, another Gill-Man epic(already "in the can"). From AlliedArtists we may expect THEY COME

FROM ANOTHER \VORLD (new titlefor Jack Finney's THE BODY SNATCH

ERS; still not ready for review because of last-minute revisions).

V-I producer Gordon Kay hashired this reviewer to write THE

MAN WHO COULD NOT DIE, a moderntreatment of the immortality theme;strictly science fiction ... butdon't let it get around. More onthis .nextissue.

You've encountered the British writer P. M. Hubbard in F&SF as a poet(Nobody Hunts Witches, May, I9JJ), a humorist (Manuscript Foundin a Vacuum, August, I9JJ) and a writer of hrief but hauntingly suggestivescience ftc.tion sketches (Botany Bay, Fehruary, I9JJ). It's in this last veinthat he returns to give us yet another view of our possible future descendants.

Lionby P. M. HUBBARD

turned in to\vards the lion, and tenyards from it they stopped altogether. Then the woman went on,holding herself erect and. walkingcarefully in the worn foot-holes.She walked ten measured paces andthen, stooping, touched with herlong fingers the rounded corner ofthe podium. She said, "Good morning, Lion." Then she walked tenpaces outwards in the foot-holes andwaited for the' man. The lion wasmuch weather-worn but still recognizable. Cocked up at an angle ofthirty degrees by the tilting of hispedestal, he looked haughtily downhis nose at the sky. "Good morning,Lion," said the man, and steppedcarefully after his wife.

They hurried on, full of thedecorous glee of a duty performed."I spoke to George," the man said,"about what you were saying. Aboutthe ancients. He laughed."

She made a show of dismay, butpath did not stop. "He would," she said

75

DOWN CLOSER TO THE RIVER, WHERE

the floods scoured the broken stones,the "trees could not mature; andhere the oak-woods gave way to ascrub-jungle of birch and alder.Further out still, just above themud-flats, there was a belt of tamarisk.

The couple came out of the woodsa little before sunset, following thetrail zig-zag towards the water. Theywalked quick and short, with shoulders a bit rounded and hands swinging in front. They were bundled inhomespun, well woven but uniformly drab. The only color was inthe hair, a full and tremendouscopper, exquisitely plaited andcoiled, the woman's on top of herhead and the man's about his shoulders. The sun, striking low acrossthe thickets, caught them as' theymoved to and fro. In the dun landscape the swinging copper headswere visible half a mile off.

They slowed down as' the

76

over her shoulder. "He doesn'tthink, George doesn't. It must beright. "

"Said it was an excuse. All thistalk of occult powers because they\"ere cleverer than we are."

"You didn't mention Lion, didyou?"

"No, no, of course not. George isvery conventional. But the wall andall the rest of it. He wouldn't haveit. They could think he' kept onsaying; the same as us, measuringand counting, but much better."

She stopped and he came alongside her. The ground dipped suddenly here, and the huge stoneparapet, starting horizontal out ofthe green slope, reached straighttwenty yards to,vards the sunset.The top was mossy and indeterminate, but under the dripstonethe edge ran through unbroken ata perfect ninety degrees. She lean tacross it, hooking her fingers underthe backward edge. The sun wasdown now, and the copper coilslooked dark under the rose-pinksky. The wind blew steadily upriver, but not a hair ,vas out ofplace.

She said, "Actually, Lion isn't asimportant as this. I can imaginemyself, just about, making Lion,only don't say I said so. It's onlybigger and better than what we domake. And much harder, of course.But given time, fabulous time, andskill and enough metal - do youthink it's a very shocking .suggestion?"


He smiled a little indulgently andpatted her ann. "You won't shockme," he said. "I ,von't ans,ver forGeorge."

"But the -point is, I don't believethey were just stronger and cleverer.l~hey didn't need fabulous time.They knew something we don't orhad something we haven't. I don'tkno,,, what it was, but I know ,,,hatthey did with it. l~hey kne\v beforethey got there, at a distance. Theyhad to, or they couldn't have donethis.~' The dark coils of hair stirredand shifted as her brow wrinkledwith the effort to understand. Herfingers gripped the straight edge ofstol?e, and felt along it, and grippedagaIn.

He touched her ann. He said, "Ithink that's a bi t pessimistic. Weshall learn . We are learning fastyou know that. Give us tin1e, and'Ne shall do all they did. As for Lion,it still takes a bit more explainingthan you're prepared to admit. Youwouldn't be without it, you know."

"Lion's all right if I'm ,,,rong,"she said. "It's all right even if I stopthinking. But if I'm right - orwhen I think I'm right - Lion's nogood to me atall. "

"Stop thinking, then," he said,"just for the moment, anyway.We've got \\Tork to do, and thinkingwon't get us through the winter.Keep it for the times you can'tsleep. That's a good time to think."

He set off down the path. "Notthat I see ",hat good your thinking'sgoing to do," he said.

LION

"I know. I know that myself.What ,they had could just come, butyou couldn't think it up. Sometimeswhen I dream I am fairly certain Ihave it, but it doesn't make sensewhen I wake up. I can't....remembereven what happened - what it feltlike. Only I'm sure I have had it inmy dream."

The rushes took long to gather,and it was nearly dark when theycame back with their bundles.Everything was silent under thesteel-blue sky, and when she spokeit was almost a whisper. She said,"I'm afraid. I don't like this time.Too quiet."

"We're almost home," he said."Do you think it matters what I

said about Lion? You're quite right.

77

I wouldn't be without it really.Only .I can't stop myself thinking.Do you think it matters?"

They stopped dead, heads bent,listening. The sound came fromdown river. He said, "Wings." Hedropped his bundle and ran, hiswife after him. They zig-zagged upthe path, doubled forward, theirhands outstretched, and flung themselves under the tilted granite. Dignified even in his upheaval, the lionpointed his weather-blunted nose atthe sky as flight after fligh t wentover, heading for the darkenedwoods. upstream. Breathless withfear, the two' crouched under him,their ears pricked under the coppercoils of hair, their white and sightless eyes bent upon the ground.

[t's Never Too Early!

The committee of the 14th World Science Fiction Convention, to be heldin New York over Labor Day weekend (August JI-Septemher 4), has not yetannounced its specific plans: but I urge you to register now. This is NewYork's first chance to show what it can do since the first of all Conventions17 years ago.,. and the more advance reservations the committee receives, themore confidently it can plan. Whatever the committee schedules, I think Ican promise you the presence of such F&SF authors as Asimov, Bloch,Clingerman, deCamp and so an down the alphabet.,. and whatever theformal program may be, you're sure of that warmth of goodfellowship whichflourishes so uniquely at Conventions. Send your $2 registration fee nowto 14th World Science Fiction Convention, Box 272, Radio City Station,New York 19. - A.B.

Even such specialists as Ralph Milne Farley and L. Sprague de Camp must,I think, yield to ]. B. Priestley as the most intensive adapter of moderntheories of Time. If you're lucky, you may find, in one of those rare shopswhich specialize in the hest paperhack hooks, Priestley's THREE TIME-PLAYS

(London: Pan, I947), which includes three contrasting treatments of Timethemes: DANGEROUS CORNER (Split Time), TIME AND THE CONWAYS

(Dunne's Serial Time) and I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE (Ouspensky'sCircular Time), with an excellent hrief note hy the author on theatricaluse of such theories. The earliest of these plays dates hack to I932, andPriestley has kept returning to the prohlem of Time ever since, most recentlyin the novel TH'E MAGICIANS (Harper, I9f4) and the short stories collectedas THE OTHER PLACE (Harper, I9ff). Here is one of the most evocativeof his tales, with its own new view of Time - the story of a couple oftoday's dissatisfied young people, a pair of II the resenters," who learn, inone strange night, that when you complain that life is II strictly low budget,' t

life (and Time) may unexpectedly reply with a display of spacious dimensions and the enchantment of long vistas.

CAlight Sequencehy J. B. PRIESTLEY

shrill, not having recovered yet frolnher fright.

"Don't be a bloody fool. Whyask me?" Luke was angrier thanever. "You know all about it, don'tyou?"

They glared at one anotherthrough the dark and the curtainof rain between them. Idiotic, ofcourse, but there you are. "If youhadn't got into such a foul temperwhen I told you that was the wrong

Betty was turn," she cried, not far from tears,© 1953 by]. B. Priestley

78

•.• AND THEN-THIS WAS THE PAY

off - he.reversed SO hard that they\vent into a ditch. It was a shallowditch and ~hey were in no danger.But the car would not budge, andthe rear end of it, with all theirluggage at the back, w~s well underwater. With some difficulty, for thecar was at a sharp angle and outsideit was nothing but rain and darkness, they climbed out and scrambled on to the road.

"And no\v ,vhat?"

1\ IGHT SEQUENCE

"you wouldn't have backed intothat ditch."

"No doubt. But who- wanted tocOI1)e this way? What was the point?Just tell me that." He had'. beenwet for some time, because the oldcanvas hood was far from beingwaterproof; but now the rain wasrunning icily down his back. "Nouse blaming me now. Got a ciga-rette?"

"No, of course I haven't got acigarette. Didn't I ask you to stopat that pub for some cigarettesand you wouldn't?"

"Oh - for God's sake!" Hestamped about in a meaninglessfashion, only to realize that his shoeswere full of water. He could feel itoozing between his toes. "We'vehad nothing to eat, nothing to drink.We're miles from anywhere. Andnow we can't even raise a cigarettebetween us."

"And whose fault is that?" shedemanded..

"What the hell does it matterwhose fault it is? Don't gO'on andon like an idiot." He could hear hisvoice reaching a high wobbling note,as it often did, to his disgust, whenhe was agitated. Why couldn't hebe really tough and stay in the bassregister? Why had he to be herewith Betty? Why did she want tocome this way? Why had he to missthe turn, reverse so savagely, landthem in the ditch? Why - whywhy? "We're only wasting time. Thequestion is - what do we do now?"

""VeIl, that's what I was asking

79

when you told me not to be a bloodyfool- thank you very much." Bettyreally was crying .now; it seemedeven sillier than usual, seeing therewas so much water about. She moveda little closer. "Can't you do anythipg about the car? Is it hopeless?"

"Of course it's hopeless.""What about our bags?"There was a time when it had

made him feel proud and happy tobe regarded by Betty as a kind ofmagician; now her helpless questioning only fed his disgust. "They'rein the middle of that- ditch and asfar as I'm conce-rned that's wherethey're staying. If you want to tryundoing those. straps under watergo on - try it. But I warn xou thateverything will be soaked. So forget, "em.

"Okay." She was the continuitygirl now, not the appealing wife. "Ifwe've had it, we've had it. Comeon.~'

"Come on where?" he shoutedangrily. The downpour was worsethan ever, more like a cloudburstthan ordinary autumn rain.

Betty stopped being the quiet ca"pable continuity girl. "How doI know and what does it matterwhere? But we can't stand here allnight, getting wetter and wetter,just screaming at each other likelunatics. We can· find some sort ofshelter, can't' we ?"

Luke admitted that they couldtry. It did not matter which waythey went, for, as he had alreadyannounced, they were miles froIJl

80

anywhere. He \vas not sure \vhatcounty they were in. Northampton,Bucks, Bedford? At the crossroadsnear-by, where she said he had takenthe wrong turn, she moved to theright and he follo\ved withou t protest. They \vent squelching along,through rain darkly drumming away;trudging and muttering like a pairof outcasts. Sometimes their shoulders bumped, but they left it atthat, without any arm-taking orhand-holding, though they wereyoung and had been m~rried onlythree' years and "vere not at thelnoment having affairs with anybody else. They might have beenany two employees of the Ne\v EraActuality Film Company, whichdid indeed still employ them, Lukeas a director, Betty on scripts a~d

continuity, after it had first broughtthem together. Stumbling on, coldnow as \vell as "vet, \vi th his headwell down, Luke thought of the jobfrom which they v.'ere returning,the usual Documentary Short, thistime on a big ne,,, cement worksnear Nottingham. A few nice shots,mostly long shots of the exteriors,but basically a corny job. He knewit, the unit boys knc\v it, and verysoon the cement people and thepublic, if any, would kno,v it.

"I see a light," Betty announced.He came out of his sour reverie.

"Where?" But then he saw it too.'VeIl off the road, and rather dim."Doesn't look promising."

"Neither does this filthy darkroad," she snapped. "And I've had

F ..\NTASY AKD SCIENCE FICTION

enough of it. l\t least they can tellus where we are - and let us usethe 'phone if they have one."

"We might find something betterround .the corner." But he said thiswithout conviction, just to raise anobjection.

"Oh - don't be stupid. I'm halfdrowned. There's some sort of drivethere, I think."

While they \vere hesitating, thenight turned into a black cascade,soaking thein ina cold fury. "'ithoutanother word, they turned; in thedrive at an irregular trot and splashedtheir \vay, head down·· and halfblinded, towards the light. Luke arrived first between the two pillars,snapped on his lighter in the shelterthere, and was thumping away atthe Inassive old knocker when Bettyjoined him. They stood there shivering, still silen t.

'"[here was nothing remarkable,as they agreed after,vards, about the\\'oman who opened the door: she\vas dumpy and elderly, dressed inblack. They began explaining themselves and their plight and were stillat it when they found themselvesindoors and the woman, ,:vho hadnot spoken, was turning a key in thedoor, locking out the night and notthem. She held a lamp up towardstheir faces, gave them another longlook, muttered something they couldnot catch, and then, putting downthe lamp, .hurriedly left the hall,closing the door behind her. I twasa square hall, not very large, sparselyfurnished, with no suggestion of

~IGHT SEQCE~CE

comfort and good cheer about it~

Indeed, it was rather like an entrance to a museum.

"I hope she understood what wesaid," Betty muttered, wriggling alittle in her discomfort. "And hasgone to ask somebody what to doabout us. My God - I feel like adrowned rat."

"You look like onc," said Luke,without a smile.

"And what do you imagine youlook like?" She was furious \vi thhim, turned away, and tried to dosomething with her hair, whichlnight have been wet, dark string.l-'he dripping olel raincoat, streakedpurple s\veater and t\veed skirt,lnuddy stockings, cOlnpletcd thepicture. Luke stared at her.

"As a matter of fact you've beenlooking tatty all the ",reek," he toldher. "I wanted to mention it before,but hadn't time."

"You'd plenty of time to putdown double gins with Bert andMack. ~-\nd you ough t to see yourself. You haven't even botheredshaving today, though you've hadoceans of time. Oh - I know theidea. ~rrying to look like the over'\Jorked director - the Hollywoodtouch."

"Oh -- for Chrissake -""That's right," she said, still not

looking at him. "Let's have thedialogue now. And start shouting."[hat's ..all we need to be turnedout." She shook herself. "And Inever felt so wet and miserable in mylife."

81

"(;0 on, then, cry. IJerhaps they'lllet you stay and only turn me out."This, was worse than usual; but hehated himself for suddenly hatingher, then found himself hating hermore for making him hate himself.

She faced him., looking so bedraggled that she was almost grotesque, but very young. "I'm notgoing to cry. If I once started, Ithink I'd never stop. And it's notjust this - now. It's everything.1-'he way you went on up there with,the unit. Even the work you didlousy -"

"Oh - it was lousy, \vas it?""Yes, it was - lousy, lousy, lousy

- and you know it. Then the "rayyou'll behave when we get .back.As if it wasn't bad enough, tryingto exist in that crummy little flatyou had to take over from Soniaand IJeter-"

"}Tour friends -""They aren't anybody's friends.

We haven't got any friends," shecontinued wildly. "\Ve haven't gotanything. You're thirty-two and I'lntwenty-seven - and already \ve'vehad it. \Vhy - \vhy? Is it you? Isit me? Is it everything? I thoughtit was going to be all. differentand it was at first -"

He nearly told her that. a girlought to pipe down \vhen she's looking like something the cat broughtin. "You can't say I didn't warn you.Right from the start. I· told you Icouldn't see myself marrying anybody. Though I thought it couldn'tbe much worse for you than living

with old Charlie Tilford, which iswhat you were doing, more or less,at the time. That can't have beenvery glamorous and gay. He was oldenough to have been your father and then some."

"That rna tters less than youthink," she retorted. "And Charliewas always kind."

"He was always plastered -""All right, he was plastered. And

he was old." She pushed back herwet fringe, to glare at him. "Buthe was kind - he was sweet. Weweren't always shouting at eachother - like this."

"I'm not shouting," he told her."You're doing the shouting. Andif you want to go back to oldCharlie, you know what to do. Thatis, if you can persuade our littleMavis to move out." He produceda laugh of sorts but did not elljoy it.

Her mouth seemed to fall openand her .eyes widened, as if to revealsome sudden desolation. Then sheshook her head slowly, still wearingthis tragic mask. I t was not an act,and Luke found it very- disturbing,as if Betty was turning into somebody else. What happened next waseven more disturbing, for she beganto swear at him, using the worstlanguage she could ever .have overheard in the studio, and she did itwithout heat and violence, almostlike an obscene talking doll.

"You' re talking like a foulmouthed little slut," he announced.

"Perhaps that's what I am." Hertone was more normal now.


"1- wouldn't be surprised.""If I am, then it's your fault,"

she said. "You've turned me intoone, Luke."

"If it had been anything good,you'd have claimed the credit yourself. But because it isn't,." he con~

tinued, with a heavy sneer, "thenit's my fault~ I've noticed that before about women." Which wasuntrue but sounded well, he thought.

He did not deceive her. She wasin fac t hard to bamboozle in thissort of mood. "'You've never noticedanything about women except theshape of their legs. So don't. pretend." She wriggled impatiently."God - these clothes! I'll havepneumonia in a minute. If you'dany sense you'd know that if youhad turned me into anything wecould both be proud of, I'd havegiven you all the credit, adored youfor it. That's what a girl wants to do.Like Sonia with Peter."

"They're a bright example." I-Iemade it another heavy sneer, thoughactually he knew what she meant~

"All right, yot! don't like them.And I don't much. But they'vemade something together."

"What? I've never seen it.""No, because you don't bother

noticing people properly, don'tknow what's happening to them,just don't take them in. That'sprobably what's wrong with 'yourwork now - why it's so routine."

"Who says it's routine?" heshouted at her, furious at having hissuspicions eonfirmed.

NIGHT SEQUENCE

"I do. And I'm not the only one,"she continued, with an infuriatinggleam of triumph. "Ask some ofyour drinking chums, if you can getthem to tell you,. the truth."

It was then that the dumpy,voman in black returned, to beckonand mutter. She handed Luke aglass with liquor in it, and indicatedthat he should wait there, afterwhich she took Betty through thedoorway on the left. Evidently theywere not to be turned out into thenight, which was still drumming androaring away. Luke tried the liquorand discovered that it was excellentold brandy. After a couple of sipsthere was a tiny patch of highsummer inside him. He had a tastefor fine objects and examined theglass itself with approval. Ithadthat tulip shape which the French.prefer for brandy, and clearly wasold and of unusual quality, like theliquor it held.

By the time he had swallowed thelast drop of the spirit, which seemedto release into his empty stomacha sunshine he had lost for years, hefelt rather tight. Too uncomfortablein his wet clothes to sit down, heprowled round the hall, like a manleft alone in a museum; but thelight from the solitary small lampwas v~ry dim. He still felt angeragainst Betty. If she were not withhim, to show her resentment and toprovoke his, it might not be badhere, a little adventure, a break inthe dreary familiar pattern. But notwith her under the same roof. She

83

w01)ld keep the pattern unbrokenall right. If he had not felt so wet,·cold and empty, he might havehurried out into the night again,braving the rain, the darkness, themiles from anywhere, to enjoy someexperience he could call his own.Slowly and resentfully he turnedover these thoughts, like an idle andgloomy farm worker \vith a pitchfork.

The old woman came back, tolead him out as she had done Betty.But this time they used anotherdoor, which opened on to a passageas cold and nearly as narrow as thegrave. At the end of this passagewas a short Hight of back stairs, forthe use of servants and visiting. riffraff like himself. The room sheshowed him, the first they came toat the top of the stairs, was of nogreat size and appeared to be assparsely furnished as the hall. It wasIit by two tall ·candles, flickering inthe draught. In the middle of thefloor, clouding the dim gold of thecandlelight with steam, was a hipbath. As soon as the woman hadshown him soap and towels andhad gone muttering out, Lukepeeled off his sodden clothes andlowered himself into that stream.There were no other clothes insight, not even a dressing-gown, buthe did not care. Here was a chanceto warm, clean and dry his protesting carcass. Like most young menhe was usually a casual splashyfellow in a bath, never troubling tosoap and scrub himself properly; but

84

this time he was thorough, enjoyingthe hot water and finding the -hipbath more encouraging to effortthan the familiar kind of tub at'home.

He began thinking about Bettyagain, not in anger now althoughhis resentment was still there. Hewent back to their first encounters

'in the studio, then forward fromthem to their marriage. Had theybeen happy during those first months- or merely excited? Was theresomething wrong with her -orwith him? Or were they both allright but simply no good in partnership? Or was it life itself that oughtto take the blame? And now, withthis question, his resentment shiftedits ground. Perhaps the answer wasthat you asked for a colossal featurein Technicolor when all you couldhave was a documentary short inblack ahd white with some lousycheap sound effects. Life, real life,was strictly low budget.

"Come in," he shouted, withoutthinking, when he heard the knock.But if these people couldn't spare~ bathrobe for him, they couldn'tgrumble if they found him starknaked. However, it was a man whoentered, a portly middle-aged fellowcarrying a bundle of clothes. "Ithought you might like a razor too,my dear sir," he announced, holdingout an old-fashioned cut-throat."Supper in about half-an-hour. Oneof us will bring you down. Horridweather. Listen to it." He waveda hand to\vards the shuttered win-


dow, against which the rain wasbeating hard. "Now don't hurry.There's plenty of time, always plentyof time."

"Thanks very much," -Luke wasstammering. "Very good of you tolook after us like this."

"My dear sir, the least we coulddo." A smile, a majestic wave of thehand, and he was gone.

Sitting upright in his bath, Lukestill stared at the door, wondering_if the candlelight had been playingtricks -with eyes that needed hundred-volt lamps. What about theclothes that had been left for him?Hurriedly he dried the upper partof himself, then jumped; out and

, perfunctorily towelled his feet andlegs. He took the clothes over to thecandles. Yes, they were the same black silk knee-breeches, long stockings, pumps, a ruffled shirt - exceptthat this cut-away tailed coat wasdark green and the one worn by' theman who had just gone had beenbrown. In this hGuse you were expected to wear fancy dress, Regencycostume for the men. Well, if shelter,brandy, a bath, dry clothes, andsupper to follow were the least thesepeople could do, then the least LukeGosforth could do was to put ontheir fancy costume and try to keepa straight face about it. So aftergiving his feet another ru b, be beganpulling on the long black stockings."Mikes a .nice chynge, ducks," hemuttered, breaking into his cornieCockney act; which he favouredwhen things took a strange turn and

NIGHT SEQUENCE

he was not sure quite what washappening.

II

Betty held a candle in fron t ofthe long mirror, examined her reflection there critically at first, tomake certain everything fitted andthere were no embarrassing disclosures; and then stepped back apace to \vonder at and enjoy whatshe saw. Her hair wasn't right, ofcourse - it hadn't a clue, thoughshe ought to be able to improve ita bit - but the general effect wasterrific. She wasn't Betty Gosforthat all, and yet at the same time shefel t she looked more herself, the selfshe was certain she possessed, thanshe had done for ages. Thank goodness she had good arms and shouldersand needn't be afraid (though it wasa bit much, among strangers too) ofthis tremendous bosomy effect! Sheturned one way and then the other,smiling at herself over her very nicebare shoulder. The high-waistedlong dress made her look muchtaller, more dignified than usual butmore dashing and voluptuous tooa sort of Napoleonic princess. Butsomething would have to be donewith her wretched hair. She tookthe candle over to the dressing...table, where there was another one,and after rubbing her hair again andthen combing it, she found in theli.ttle drawer below the mirror sev"eral short lengths of broad ribbon,with which she began to experiment,lost to everything at the moment

85

but the desire to perfect her toilet.When at last she went rustling

down the broad shallow stairs, shefelt peculiar, all fancy dress andglamour outside but bewildered andrather shaky within; and very hungry too. There was a man standingbelow, as if waiting for her. Whenshe drew nearer, he smiled and extended a hand. Without thinkingwhat she was doing, she put herhand into. his, and allowed him tobring her to the foot of the stairs.

"Welcome," he said, still smilingand still keeping her hand in his.He was middle-aged, perhaps aboutfifty, and his thick springy hair hadsome grey in it. His face, matchinghis rather bulky figure, was h~avy

but was lightened by a quick, clearglance, which she felt at once hadsomething very masculine about it.He was wearing some sort of stock,a ruffled shirt, a dark brown cutaway coat, black knee-breeches andstockings; but did not give theimpression that he was in fancydress. She was certain he had alwaysworn clothes like these. And justas she was asking herself what w~nton in this house, as if guessing herbewilderment he continued: ·"Myniece will be joining us in a moment.And so, I trust, will your - er companion - husband -lover -"

"Husband," she told him, smilingtoo. "It's very good of you-"

"No, no, we're delighte,d to havecompany on such a night," he said,cutting her short. "And don't let usstand on ceremony. Call me Sir

86

Edward - or even Ned if you preferit. What shall 1 call you?"

"Betty." It was out before shecould stop it. She had meant to tellhim she was Mrs. Gosforth and to'do a little- more apologising, explainabout the car and all that; but some-how she couldn't. And the next mo-ment he was conducting her, witha hint of high ceremony, into a longpanelled room where there was anuncommonly generous fire and sev-eral clusters of candles, so that it wasfilled with lovely warmth and light.At the far end of the room wasa dining--table laid for four. SirEdward placed her in a straighthigh-backed chair near the fire.

"I hope," he said, bending for-ward a little and looking deep intoher eyes, "you will take a glass ofs~erry \vith me, Betty. You will?Excellent!" His voice was powerful,rich, like that of some famous actor;.butit was oddly and rather disturbingly gentle too; quite differentfrom the voices of Luke and hisfriends, ,vhich \vere much thinnerand higher but also more aggressive.This man, she reflected as he wentto the sideboard for the sh'erry,seemed- to bend his voice and hislook at you - not .to throw themas Luke and his friends did - and ifyou were a \voman, you could easilyfind this most disarmingly attractive.In spite of his age and queer costume,this Sir Edward \vas in fact a mostattractive man.

"Allo\v me to observe," he said,looking do\vn at her as they sipped


the sherry, "that you look morethan becoming in this dress."

"I adore it. Only of course myhair's· all wrong."

"It's uncommonly short, Betty."He smiled at her. "Some new fashion- French, I'll be bound -thathasn't reached us before do\\rn here.But I've been admiring it. In thislight, it looks like black midnightwith a distant fire or two somewhere.If your eyes were dark," he continued, regarding her thoughtfully,"I might like your hair less. But youhave grey eyes, 1 think -"

" Yes, they are grey." 1t occurredto her that nobody had botheredfor ages about what colour her eyeswere. It would have been much thesame if she hadn't had eyes, onlysome electric seeing-apparatus. Shesmiled at this observant Sir Edward,using her eyes too.

"But a warm grey, surely, like agrey velvet in strong sunlight," hesaid slowly, his tone both gentlerand richer than ever. He soundedrather wistful about it too, as if hehad waited for years to stare intoexactly this kind of eye and knewthat it could be only a tantalisingglimpse.

To hide her confusion, althoughit was not unpleasant, Betty dranksome more sherry. It seemed muchstronger than any sherry she hadhad for a long time. Now that SirEdward was silent, though she knewhe was still looking at her, this wasthe moment to explain about thecar going into the ditch and perhaps

NIGHT SEQUENCE

to ask a cautious question or twoabout this house and its family andfancy dress. But somehow, when itcame to the poin t, there did notseem any particular reason why sheshould.

"I call myself a gentleman," hesaid, almost with regret, "and. soyou may be sure I shan't abuse thelaws of hospitality. But I must warnyou, Betty, that 1 have a passioIl"for Woman - and when she appearsbefore me wearing dark hair andfine grey eyes - by Heaven - Ibegin to feel overmastered by thatpassion. So, take warning, my dear."

As 'she looked up at him, sheasked herself if he was about toInake a pass at her, and wonderedwildly what she would do if he did.It just wasn't fair to a girl if a man\vith such a terrific line turned atonce into a pouncing wolf. But allhe did - and she could not havesaid if she felt relief or disappointment - was to give her a slow smile,and then saunter back to the sideboard to refill his glass. When hereturned, he sat opposite to her,nursing his glass on his crossedknees. He looked anything but overmastered by a passion, yet something, Betty felt, still danced andflashed between them.

"Talk to me," she said, after waiting a little time. "Don't just thinkit - say it." As if she had knownhim for ages; but it was his fault.

His heavy face came to life again."You have an odd abrupt trick ofspeech, Betty-"

~'I'm sorry -""No, no. It has a certain charm,

though if you were older and plainI might not think so." He smiled athe.r. over the glass he was slowlyraIsIng.

"Tell me what you were thinking,please, Sir Edward." There again,it came out before she had time toremember they had just met.

"I was thinking," he began carefully, "that in middle life men eitherbegin to die - and there are manyEn:glishmen who are dead but notburied - or turn more and more,and with increasing passion, in themind if not alway~ in the body; toWoman. I suspect - except perhapsfor priests and philosophers,- wehave no other choice - it is Deathor Woman. You are astonished, Igather."

" Yes, I am." She regarded himgravely. "I always think of youngmen wanting women."

"Young men want women as theywant beef and pudding. And it maybe this is what most women prefer."

"I don't think so," said Betty."But men of my age," Sir Edward

continued, "who are still alive andare not merely solid ghosts, cheatingthe graveyard, see Woman as themanifestation of a sublime mystery.She is both goddess and priestess outof a strange religion. She is theother side of things taking on ex~

quisite shape and colouring, to attract us, and speaking our languageto communicate with us. She carriesdipl0ll?-atic passport from the Moon.

88

She is the last survivor of Atlantisand all the lost kingdoms. There ismore in her that is at once alien,fascina ting, delicious, than there isin all China. Young men, still warmfrom their mothers' milk, do notperceive all this. I t is only whenwe men are growing old ourselvesthat we understand that Woman,though she may be all bloom andspringtime, is older ·than we are."

"You can't look at me like that,"said Betty, "and really believe whatyou're saying."

"Certainly I can. And there issomething in you that knows whatI say is true. Something that doesnot belong simply to you, Betty.For Betty as Betty .may be shy,humble, wondering if her hair is outof place, anxious to please her com"pany, perhaps fearful of what thenight may bring-"

"How do you ~now that?" shecried, but not in protest against it.

"But Betty as Woman is all Ihave said she is. And when you canenjoy, as I can, the contrast betweenthe simple hwnility of the individualgirl and the pride, grandeur, andmystery of the ancient empire ofWoman, then you are doubly fascinated. Then add," he went on,regarding her with a mock severitythat was not without tenderness,"hair of midnight and old fires, eyesof smoke and silver - and imaginethe havoc -"

A girl came into the room. Bettydidn't know if she was glad or sorryto see her. It was comforting to


meet another girl in this peculiarhouse, but even though she was onlySir Edward's niece, this girl tumbledBetty, off her perch as Woman thegrand and mysterious. Also, this girlwas beautiful, there could be nodoubt about that. She had red-goldhair, artfully tumbling in curls froma centre parting, and wide eyes of awarm hazel. Her dress was likeBetty's, white and in the Empirestyle, but had a cunning little frill,of a pastel blue shade, that wentround her bare shoulders and curvedits ends in a knot on her bosom,thus shaped like an inverted heart.She was also at least two or threeyears younger than Betty, who hadto admit that she looked a nice girl.But she would have seemed a muchnicer girl if she had not lookedquite so devastating.

"Uncle Ned," she announced,smiling at them sweetly, "supper'scoming in."

"Betty," said Sir Edward, whowas now standing, "allow me topresent my niece, Julia. I promisedour other guest he would be broughtdown to supper. Julia, my dear, he'sin the small room at the back. Runup there, please, and give him aknock." .

Julia floated away, leaving Bettyand Sir Edward standing togetheron the hearth. "She looks· a charm..ing girl," Betty murmured, looking·up at him.

"·She is indeed. Delightful." Hewaited a moment, regarding hersmilingly. "But for once I'll confess

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.J wish she weren't with me. Thoughof course I'm forgetting - there-'syour husband," He placed a fingerdelicately under her chin and gentlytil ted her face up an inch or two."Are you in love with your husband,Betty?"

"I \vas. But I don't think I anlnow," she replied unsteadily.

"A pity.""Yes, that's \vhat I think. Still-"

She stopped because she had noidea what else to say. She had astrong desire, which she resisted, toclose her eyes, now sO' near to his,wi th their direc t masculine challenge.

"The laws of hospitality," hesa'id softly. '''No need to be pedanticabout them - humph?"

"Well-" And her eyes apparently closed of their own accord.What happened now was no businessof hers atall.

She felt herself gently but master-fully enclosed in his arms. 'Therewas nothing violent and passionateabout the kiss that followed, other·wise, passive and helpless thoughshe felt, she might have resented it.Nevertheless, it seemed the mostpersonal, the· most directly communicating kiss. she had had fora longwhile. It made her feel at onceenormously herself and. alive, andvery precious too. She opened hereyes, and withdrew gently, her kneeswobbling a little.

"Somewhere between the merepecking of salutation and the grop·ing of mouths on their way to darkness," ~ir Edward observed, "is the

kiss tha t a man and woman ex..change when they are completelyaware of one another's personalitiesand delight in them. It is the kissof recognition, of' acceptance, oftribute, beyond friendship but notyet hounded and blinded by passion.I t is the kiss of love not yet readyto destroy itself in the night. Everything that can happen is there init but kept within the boundsof what is individual and personal,this particular man, this particularwoman."

He lo<;>ked at her searchingly."Do you agree, Betty?"

She did, and 'as she told him so,she found herself possessed by aqueer thought that everything SirEdward said to her was somethingshe had wanted some man to sayto her, although she could not haveput the words into his mouth, andthat he behaved as she had wantedsome man to behave, even thoughwhat he did 'might seem to surpriseher; so that in an unreasonablefashion it was all as if she had invented him, like a dream figure. Yetthere was nothing hazy and dreamlike about him and this house: theywere solidly before her, unexpected,fantastic, but not at all unreal. Indeed, it was the rest of the day,with its fuss and squalor, its journeythrough the rain and deepeningdarkness to nowhere, its t:neaningless squabbling, that now seemedunreal.

"Yes, Sir Edward," she was saying, "I've always felt that...."

III

The clothes were not a bad fit,and Luke rather fancied himself inthe dark green coat. All that waswrong now was the stock or cravator whatever it was called, whichhad defeated him for the last tenminutes. He was still holding it,sadly crumpled, when somebodyknocked and he went to open thedoor. The girl looked so beautiful,it hurt.

"I'm Julia," she said, "and myuncle sent me to bring you downto supper. You must be hungry."

He found some breath. "Yes, Iam - rather," he stammered. "Er- my n~me's Luke Gosforth. Doyou know how to tie one of thesethings? I was just giving it up."

She smiled. "I can try. Now standquite still, please."

He did stand still but his mindwas blazing and whirling. It was asif every other girl he had ever seenwas nothing but a faint copy of thisone, as if in fact he had never reallyseen a girl before. And he was thefellow who had been telling himselfthat life, real life, was strictly lowbudget. This girl burst any budget.Life had pulled something out ofa bag he didn't know was there:"I'll show you, Gosforth," it hadreplied. By the time she had finishedtying that thing, in a fragrantkaleidoscope of red-gold curls, eyeswith flecks of green and gold inthem, round white arms and shoulders, he felt half drunk.


"There!" She smiled at him, asif he were an emperor. "Now we'llgo down. Will you bring a candle,please?"

Halfway along the passage below,no longer as cold and narrow as thegrave, he stopped her. "Just a minute, please, Julia," he b~an, holdingthe lighted candle high betweenthem. "I'm calling you Julia becausethat's all the name you gave .me, soI hope you don't mind. I want tosay first that I'm very grateful forthe wonderful way you're lookingafter us. Thank you very much,Julia. "

She looked at him without smiling,her eyes enormous and rather darkin that wavering light. "You haveno need to thank me, Luke. Youwanted us, I think, and. here we are."

The ghost of a thought visitedhim then, like a cold finger tappinghis spine; but he beat it· down,determined to keep everything ona sensible level.. "Nice of you to putit like that, Julia. But I also wantedto say this. I might find it hard tostart questioning your uncle - anddon't want to embarrass anybody so before we join the others, couldyou just give me a quick line on theset-up here?"

"A quick line - on the set-up?"She looked as bewildered as shesounded.

Again, some moth-wing of athought brushed his mind, and againhe took a firm grip on sense andreality. "You know what I mean,"he said apologetically. "No business

NIGHT SEQlJENCE

of mine, I agree. But it might stopme making a fool of myself later.So - tell me - why are we all wearing these clothes? What goes onhere?"

"What do you want to go onhere?" she said, no longer bewildered. "Is thi~ the wrong way tolive? Do you wish to show us abetter \vay?" She waited a moment,and then, when he did not answerher: "They ar-e waiting for us, Imust remind you." She put out ahand.

When his hand closed over hers,he could have shouted for joy.Everything suddenly expanded; theworld was rich and wide. "Okay,don't explain anything, Julia. I don'twant to know. I'll tell you this,though. I couldn't show you a betterway. I couldn't show anybody,anything, though I'm supposed to. I'vebeen living like a rat in a cage/'He felt a little tug. "Yes, let's go.Sorry for the hold-up."

But he halted her again just asthey reached the last door. "Look,Julia," he whispered, "don't thinkI'm out of my mind - though perhaps I 'am and it might be the sortof mind to be out of. But I musttalk to you alone some time tonight.I couldn't leave here without talkingto you. If I did, tomorrow wouldbe even worse than today and yesterday."

"I knew at once you \vere unhappy," she said softly. "Why areyou?"

"That's what I want to talk about,

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partly. So can we get togethersomewhere, just the two of us? Itwouldn't be the same with anybP<lyelse there. Can we, Julia?"

She nodded. "After supper. Andnow we must go in."

The portly fellow in the browncoat was standing before the fire,and with him was another beautifulgirl, dressed more or less like Julia,but quite different, a dark mysterious creature. There are some'men who seem to claim the right tobe surrounded by beautiful women,and evidently this fellow was one ofthem.

"Prompt to the moment," hecried jubilantly. "The food's on thetable. The wine's in the decanter.Luke, isn't it? I'm Sir Edwa~dor Ned, if it takes your fancy andwe don't quarr~l. Now, Luke, giveJulia an arm. Come, my dear." Hesaid this, offering an arm, to thedark mysterious beauty; and as sheturned, no longer withdrawn butas smiling and gracious as a youngqueen, Luke saw that it was Betty.She gave him a look that was evenmore disturbing than her changedappearance, for it was not an angrylook, an anxious or questioning look,not any look she had ever givenhim before as a wife: it was sereneand not unfriendly but without anyfeeling or even any curiosity.

So they went with some ceremonydown the long room to the table atthe end. Luke and Sir Edward satfacing one another; and Luke hadJulia upon his right and a little

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closer to him than Betty was, thetable having been laid in this way.No servant came in. Sir Edwardserved the rich soup and then carvedthe roast chicken. Luke ate slowly,which was unusual for him, and feltthat for once he was enjoying eachmouthful.

After Sir Edward had beggedthem formally to take ,vine withhim and had filled their glasses, hebegan making a speech at them,which did not surprise Luke, whohad already guessed that here wasa man who loved the sound of hisown voice. Betty never took hereyes off the man, and gave the impression that she was willing to sitthere all night listening to himorate. But to Luke's joy there ,vasa moment when Julia turned herpeach-bloom face towards him andmade a tiny grimace, as if she hadguessed his thought and was showingher agreement with it. God's truth- she was the honey of the world!

"You and I, my dear Luke," SirEdward was s~ying, "are fortunatemen to have -such ladies at ourelbow. But they are here, I think,because we deserve them. Not entirely, of course, for tha t would beimpossible, but so far as men candeserve such ladies, we deserve these.We have the eyes to observe theirbeauty, the minds to record, toremember and praise their charms.If they are Eros, then we are Logos.The word and the deed are with us,so we have magic too. We offerthem strong arms, tender hearts,

FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTIO:\

and, when the wine has gone roundthree or four times more, mindsthat shall seem enchanted kingdomsto them. For they can no more dowithout us than ,ve can \yithoutthem."

"No, of course not," cried Bettyboldly, and held out her glass tohim.

"Speak to us, friend Luke," SirEdward continued, with one evestill on Betty. "You are still you~g,and a noble fellow. Poetry burns inyou, I see it in your eye. Come, setthese ladies delicately but surely onfire. Restore to me the green butblazing madness of my youth, beforeI turn complete philosopher andtake this table and company intoGreenland. Julia, command him."

He could not hear what she said,perhaps she said nothing but onlymade mocking but tender motionswith her lips; but her glowing lookwas an invitation to a new life, asif he had fallen heir to some fa bulousestate. Through his mind \\rent patt'ering, like rats down a corridor, thefamiliar staccato phrases of disillusion and fear, the double- talk of theworld of double gins; but not inthat fashion did he speak, when hefound himself standing, lookingdo,vnupon them, glass in hand. The wordsseemed to arrive, and be roundlyspoken, of their own accord.

"Ladies - Sir Edward," he heardhimself saying, "all my life I havewished to be here as I am tonight.It is not true that I am a noblefello,v. I am a miserable fello,v. But

NIGHT SEQUENCE

now I am not such a miserable fellowas I have long imagined myself tobe. That is because I am here, speaking to you like this." He shot aglance at Julia and what he saw inher face turned his heart over. "Idid not know this was what I wanted.I only knew, though I pretendednot to know and hated my pretence,that days, months, years, were hurrying past while my life was merelybeing endured and not lived. I drewan evil magician's circle and existedwithin it, watching colour drain outof the rose and fire and gold leave thesun. I disinherited myself, plannedmy own starvation. I was afraid ofjoy, so joy never came. I believedthe past to be a graveyard, thefuture a menace. That left me witha present time that was never anything but a tasteless wafer. My lifelacked spacious dimensions; therewas no room in it for style, ceremony, admiration, deep feeling, andthe enchantment of long vistas.There was an artist in me and I puta rope round his neck. There" was;a friend, and I sneered him intobanishment. There was a lover, butI could not feed him with wonderand faith. I could neither love Godnor defy Him. I was too corrupt forHeaven and not lively enough forHell. I have lived, a dusty midget,on the endless desert of cement. Iwould have been already half aninsect, lost as- a man, if some unquenched spark of soul had not forever kept alive the resentment thatburned in me. No, Sir Ed,vard, my

93

friend - no poetry burned in me,only resentment, though that mayhave been the defiance of the poetdying within me. I - and all myk_ind - we are the resenters; andthere is a terrible despair in ourresentment, for while we know wehave been disinherited and cheated,we also know we have contrived todisinherit and cheat ourselves. Butfor once, here, tonight, I am whereI might always have been. I wasready to resent you, Sir Edwardto question your generosity, to mockat your offer of friendship, to makeyour food seem unpalatable, yourwine taste sour - but now I say youare indeed the noble fellow yousaid I was. That lady - so richlydark and delicately glowing - ismy wife, and I know now that Ihave never really seen her before asshe is - or as she might be; andshe does well to turn away from me,to look at and listen to a betterman, whose eyes and tongue do notrob her of her true inheritance.. AsfOf, Julia - why should I hide whatI feel? All my life I have loved her.Without seeing her, without beingcertain she existed, I have lovedher. She is the very face of beauty and all that is gentIe and good besides - and now that I have seenher and she has spoken -to me, shepossesses my heart for ever;"

He sat down, drained his glass,then met the dazzling look thatJulia was giving him. Her hand cameacross the table and he raised it tohis "lips. Then it stayed within his

94

grasp, sluall and still yet as marvellously filled with life as a bird.Were the candles dimming and turning flame into smoke, or was it thesunburst of happiness inside himthat made the table seem darker?Soon he was asking himself otherquestions. Had he really made thatelaborate speech, so far removedfrom his customary talk, or had hetuerely sat there imagining himselfmaking such a speech? Did he kissJulia's hand and then hold it? Oncehe had had a dream \vithin a dream.'Vas this one of them?

Certainly, candle after candle guttered and smouldered and darknesscrept along the table. It was hardto see Betty now - she seemedtuuch further away too - and itwas she who was talking to them.If you could' call it talking, for the,vords, clear and high, seemed tocome. floating out of her. "I am a,,,oman," he caught, then kept hisattention steady, not to miss th~

rest, "and now at last, when I hadbegun to feel our life was all a cheat,I have met a Man, and for an hourI have begun to· live as a womanshould live. And as she expects tolive. I do not know how it is withmen - and perhaps there is lessdifference between us than we think- but we women grow up with expectations that o,ve nothing to ourmothers, nurses, governesses, whotell us too little of these things. ThenNature starts us flowering, but wemay wither still in bud unless thesociety of man ripens us. 1

1

he hidden


pattern of our unfolding is kno,vn tous somehow, so that we see it fragmentarily in dreams, are tantalisedby it, and then driven to a terribledespair, in which we care nothingif we make life hateful to all aroundus. We feel we possess in secret essence, waiting to be released into theair, everything that could delighta man, whatever his mood, whileit delights us too. But unless weripen, we are nothing. We are flowerand fruit that must have gardeners.Because we are so much closer toNature than man is, we know thatNature is not enough. Man mustcomplete us, not only in his capacityas the lover but also as the creatorof a society, a style of life, in whichwe can grow. And no\v I have foundthat Man. To leave him would beunimaginable. Not to share a roof\vith him even for half a day wouldbe a little death. Dear Ned, now Ican never let you go."

All the wicks in the central candelabra seemed to be smoking, andbeyond them Sir Edward's face wasnothing but a blur of crimson: itmight have been a great mask carriedin some distant torchlight procession.What was the man saying? Luketried to concentrate his attention."For my part, my dear," he heard,"I believe what are most necessaryare style, energy and good humour.Energy without style brings barbarism. Style without energy resultsin corruption and death. But evenstyle with energy, energy with style,must have good humour too, other-

NIGHT SEQUENCE

wise we might be Asiatic conquerorsor Caesar Borgia. I do not ask forsaintliness, fo~ I am thinking of thisworld, which is all I know, and notthe next, which may not be thereand even if it is can wait for us. I askfor a cheerful temper, for unwearied tolerance and kindness, withoutwhich we could erect a hell on earthin six months. Sheer good-nature issadly under-valued. But there mustbe energy behind it or it becomestorpid. And good humour and energymust express .themselves in a finestyle of life."

"With light, if you'll allow meto say so," Luke called down thetable, "more than we have here atthis moment."

"To say nothing of coffee andbrandy," cried Sir Edward. AndLuke could just see him rising hastily. "We must serve ourselves, butI'll do it."

Betty had risen too. "I'm comingwith you, Ned." There \vas someurgency in her tone.

"Why not, my dear Betty, ·whynot?" He was jovial as he reachedfor a candlestick. "We'll go handin-hand."

~'But they'll come back here,"Luke said to Julia as soon as theywere alone. "And remember vourpromise. After supper, you said:"

She stood up, so white, so golden,that it appeared as if she neededno light to be seen, as if light camefrom her. "I have not forgotten.Dear l.Juke! Come, you must sit bythe fire \vhile you are \vaiting." She

95

led him down the room. "1 shall gofor coffee an~ brandy too - if youwould like some brandy - yes? But1 shall take them up to the Library,which is always warm, and thereyou can talk to me as long as youplease. To find the Library you goup the main staircase, not the littleone where your room is, turn to theright and go along the landing andthen you will see a short staircaseat the end, on the left, and at thetop of that staircase is the Library.It has double doors, and the innerone is covered with green baize. Bethere in half an hour, not so_onerbecause there are things I must dofirst. Now is there anything youwant here, Luke?"

"Yes," he replied ruefully"" tobacco. I smoke all the time -"

"Sit there, and you shall havetobacco," she cried, with all thebustling gaiety of a girl who is happyto be waiting upon a man. It wasincredible, but there it was - sheseemed as happy to be with him ashe was with her. "There." And shehanded him a tobacco-box and along churchwarden clay pipe. "Anddon't smoke yourself into a stuporor you won't be able to talk to me.And remember - the Library inhalf an hour, and it's at the top ofthe short staircase at the end of thelanding."

After she had gone he filled thechurchwarden, rather -clumsily forhe had never been a pipe-smoker,and lit it with a brand from thedying fire. He pulled the narro\v

96

high-backed chair closer, fitted himself into it snugly, crossed his legs,and began puffing away at thefragrant Virginia tobacco. He didnot look like Luke Gosforth, wasnot behaving like him, and now tocrown all - and to the astonishmentof that central recording little selfwhich might be the essential LukeGosforth or might be sonle impersonal atom of pure intelligencehe no longer thought like LukeGosforth. His consciousness was nolonger like an angry cascading streambut more like some broad placidriver. l"he usual staccato phrases,jeering, protesting, fearful, that\vent crackling through his mind ashe pulled at a cigarette, strode abouta room or humped himself into aneasy chair, ,vere no longer tormen ting him; and in their place werelarge serene thoughts that cameHocrting along the river like noblycoloured barges. He discovered inhimself no noticeable pieces of wisdom; yet he felt \vise, and the master,not the agitated slave, of experience.It was a moment, he felt, for planning some great \vork that wouldtake years and fill them with creation. He was no longer a rat in acage, he was a man at the end of agood day....

IV

When Betty left Sir Ed\vard togo up to her room, where she remembered seeing a shawl she needednow, he told her not to return downthere but to look for him in the


Library, at the head of the shortstaircase that she would find at theend of the landing. Carrying a smallbrass candlestick, she found herroom easily enough. In all her life,she fel t, she had never before knownsuch happiness as this. There werein fact three shawls and she amusedherself trying thein on in differentways. After decidin'g on the smallestbu t fleeciest, she unfastened theribbon in her hair and used hercomb again. The face she saw, nottoo ,vell in the light of one smallcan9le, was the face she had always\vanted to see in every mirror, theface that had been waiting in somesecret store for such a time as this,a face that \vas at the furthest remove from the angry hag's countenance she had worn in the car. Sheremembered what happened in thecar and the unpleasant scene shehad had with Luke after they arrived here; but now all that seemedpart of a dream she had had, one ofthose dreams both confused and,vildly iinprobable that can yet tnakethe drealner feel wret~hed. She didnot understand the events of thelast hour or so, how they could comeabout, what sensible explanationthere \}'as of them; but then so farshe had never really tried to understand them, had no desire to livein that part of the mind which couldbegin to make ordinary sense out ofthem. She was alive now, whereasonly a few hours ago she had felthalf dead. Why should she askquestions \vhen she had suddenly

NIGHT SEQUENCE

been transformed from a hard, angrylittle thing into a fountain of joy?Vague memories of fairy tales returned to her, tales in which theover-curious, theobstinate enquirers,only cut themselves off from thegood magic.

Now, with no more she couldusefully do to herself, she was onfire again to be with Sir Edward, inwhose presence she fel t herself to belovely and gracious and almost wise.She had more than once fanciedherself to be in love, not only withLuke but also before and after shehad married him, with men of hissort, brittle and demanding; butalways she had felt herself workingup an excitement to keep the affairgoing, like people at a party, andhad found herself hurrying awayfrom various dou bts and hesi tations,pretending they did not exist; sothat the whole of her was far frombeing completely involved, absorbed.But with Sir Edward it was as ifshe began from the true centre ofher being, and none of the deliciousexcitement had to be manufactured,while at the heart of the rela tionshipwas a wonderful calm, the peace ofcertainty. In whatever time andplace he existed, she belonged tohim.

She stood still for a moment ortwo outside her room carefullyshielding her candle from thedraught. She could hear the steadydrumming of the rain and nothing

. else, not a sound. The house seemedimmense, cavernous. She wondered

97

whether Sir Edward had alreadygone up to the Library; she hadnever heard him pass her room; butthen he might have used anotherstaircase. This house no longerseemed the compact Queen Annetype of small mansion she had imagined it to be when she first arrived.Most houses she reflected uneasily,appear much larger at a first glan~ethan they seem to be on furtheracquaintance, whereas this house,in a disturbing fashion, began togrow, and the longer you were in itthe bigger it seemed. This staircase,descending into darkness, was notthe staircase the old woman hadfirst shown her, though it led to andfrom the same room. Should she goand find the Library or look forSir Edward below? Irresolutely shedrifted down and halted at the footof the stairs, hoping to hear a soundthat would tell her he was stillsomewhere on the ground floor.Hearing nothing, then spurred bysomething like panic, she hurriedupstairs, going as fast as her trailingskirts and the care of her preciouscandle-flame would allow her ~o go.

There was a terrifying scuttlingsomewhere along the landing, andafter that nothing to be heard thereexcept her heart behaving like atrapped bird. The floor was unearpeted and its boards \vorn and uneven. The air along there ,vas coldand seemingly thick with dust. Several of the bedrooms doors \vereopen, but she hurried past \vithoutso much-as a glance inside..A.t the

98

end she remclnbered to turn leftup the short staircase, which broughther to a stout door that \vas halfopen, un{:overing a green baize doorthat ,vas closed. She knocked at thissecond door, waited a moment ortwo, then pushed it open, discovering at once that Sir Edward was notthere, nothing but cold darkness.And there was a patch o( colddarkness in her mind no\v. She wentdown to the landing again and hearda horrid slithering behind one of theopen doors. Her happiness a brightwreck, she felt alone and afraid. Shebegan to run; the flame she tried toshield \vavered dangerously; she hadto stop to allow it to burn uprightagain. If this inch of flame vanished,she felt she might be lost for ever.

At the head of the main staircase,which looked large enough no\v forsome ruined opera house, she begancalling to him, telling him whereshe was, begging him to come andfind her. But' all that came backwere echoes, strange echoes like somuch mockery. Her final call became a scream, a scream cut off bya sob. For she knew then, \vith adesolate finality, like a blow delivered at the heart, that it \vas useless to call for Sir E~:hvard, that hewas no longer in that house, nolonger in any world or time ,vhereher cries could reach him.

v

After the first ten minutes or sohad gone by, Luke thought that atany moment Betty and Sir Ed,vard

FANTASY A1'\D S,CIENCE FICTI.ON

might return. He \vas not surprised,however, when they did not comeback; they were probably makinglong speeches at one another in somekitchen or pantry. He was not carrying a \va tch and' there seemed to beno clock in this long .room; he hadto guess at the half-hour Julia askedhiJn to \vail. Finally, taking twocandles for good measure, he \ventoff to find the I... ibrary. He took t\VOwrong turnings, along narrow passages, before arriving at the mainstaircase, which he had not seenbef~re. f\fter that it was easy enoughto follo\v Julia's instructions, turningto the right at the head of thestaircase and then going along thelanding un til he found the shortfligh t of stairs. And there were thedouble doors she had described; hecould see the green baize on tqeinner door.

"Julia, I'ln here," he cried, all joyand excitement, with a vision of thet\VO of them talking for hours inthis IJibrary, so remote and yet sosnug and companionable with itscalf-lined ,valls. "Here I am," heshouted idiotically as he charged in,"here I am."

The room \vas empty, bare, andhad. the damp chill of an endlesswin ter. I t had been a library once,for there \vere still some shelves ont\VO of the \valls and even a fewshabby books heaped together inone corner. Cold ashes and a litterof half-burnt paper filled the grate.Patches of damp had not merelystained the ,valls and ceiling but had

NIGHT SEQUENCE

eaten into them. There was not asingle piece of furniture in theroom,- only an old packing case. Nobody could have read a book herefor the last thirty years. I t was aroom that had forgotten what human beings are like. Luke felt sickwith misery.

He could hear the rain and thecreaking of a shutter somewhere,and that was all. It was impossibleto believe now tnat the room he hadleft, still bright with the image ofJulia, was only two flights of stairsaway. Terrible suspicions, for whichhe refused to find words, camecreeping into the back of his mind.What if - once you left that longroom belo,,, - you could take awrong turning in time? Where wasJulia? Where \vas she waiting forhim with that coffee and brandy?He knew - and desperately wishedhe didn't know - that this was theLibrary she meant. He began shivering: there was ice squeezing hisheart.

Then he heard steps, slo\v draggingsteps but coming nearer. He couldnot move, only listen. The stairscreaked. Tremulous candlelight appeared in the doorway. His welcoming shout of "Julia!" was hopeagainst all sense, and the hope diedbefore the last echo faded.

"Luke," said Betty as she cameforward, pale, her eyes deep-set andsmudged, still dressed as she hadbeen at the supper table but withoutthe beauty she had worn then, noteven elegant any longer, just a girl

99

wearing the \vrong clothes, "Luke,I thought.it must be you." Shestared about her for a memento"Yes, I knew it would look like this.I think that's why I didn't come inbefore. I knew somehow." Shelooked at him. "'Vere you going tomeet her here?"

"Yes," he said, looking away,towards the empty shelves. "We'darranged to talk after supper, andshe told me to come up here."

"That's what he told me." Shespoke withou t expression, as a sleepwalker might talk. "And I came asfar as the door. I think I knew then."

"Knew.what?""That he isn't here - not now.

And she isn't here either, o£course."She shook her head slowly. "I'mcertain now there's nobody here butus. Not even that old womanthough of course she ,vas quitedifferent from them."

"What do you mean, Betty?" Hewas rather angry. .

"I mean," she said carefully, "that\ve might see her in the morning.But we shan't see them. Not ever..Luke; don't be cross. I couldn't bearit. "

"You won't have to. I'm tryingto understand, that's all. And it wasa hell of a shock when I charged inhere expecting to see her -"

She nodded. "You needn't tellme. It happened to me too. Andthat's something, I suppose - thatit happened to both or us. \Veought to remember that. I t's important."

100

"Yes, but what happened? Andif we're going to talk, let's get outof this morgue. Let's go downstairs-where we had supper. That room'swarln." He stopped there, stared ather, changed his tone. "Or isn't it?Perhaps that's just a cold emptydump too with nothing in it buta couple of packing cases. But look- damn it!" he cried angrily, "I'mstill \vearing these clothes - theirclothes. So are you. And \ve hadsupper together, didn't we, the fourof us - you don't deny that?"

"No, I don't." She sounded tearful. "But, please, I~uke, don't beangry about it all. Don't let's startquarrelling again. I really couldn'tbear it now."

"All right, I won't, Betty. I'm'not really angry,_ certainly not \vithyou. But we did have supper, allfour of us - and you and he andI made. speeches. Or didn't we? AmI making that up?"

"You and he did. I didn't. Ho\vcould I?"

-"I thought you did - about \vhatwomen \vanted-"

"No, I just listened to you two.And talked to him a little. But thatdoesn't matter now. Let's go down.We can't stay here."

As they moved to the door, carrying their candles, Luke stopped andpointed. "Look at that."

"What? I don't see anything."/He jabbed a finger at the wall.

"An electric light switch. And Inever noticed any before." He triedit but nothing happened. "There's

FAXT:\SY A;";D SCIENCE FICTION

no longer a fi tting in here, andprobably the electricity's been cutoff anyhow. Let's save two of thesecandles. Keep close to me, I knowthe way do\vn."

"Did this house seem to you toget bigger and bigger?" she askedas they \vent down. "It did to mejust when everything began to turnsinister and awful. I think it waswhen there wasn't a proper time\vhen it wasn't then and hadn't gotback to now."

"Don't let's start on that yet."He was silent for a few moments ashe led the way. "I believe you whenyou say they're not here. I feelthey're not here now. But we'restill \vearing these clothes - and wehad supper in tha t long roomthat I'll s\vear. So let's wait for moreevidence."

They entered the long room atthe opposite end from the table. Assoon as they were inside, Luke exclaimed: "There you are! This hasn'tchanged. Same furniture. The fire'snot quite out yet. It's exactly as Iremenlber it. I left those two candlesburning - there they are. Now let'shave a look at that supper table."

It \vas the same table but it wasnot the same meal that had. beeneaten there. Only two chairs hadbeen dra\vn up to it, not four, andclearly only two people haq usedthese plates and cutlery. On thetable were some remaining bits oftinned nleat, a dOry hunk of cheeseand half a loaf of bread. Near oneplace \vas a small teapot, jug of milk,

l'I<.arr SEQUEI\CE

~up and saucer, and at the other anempty beer bottle kept companywith a glass still laced with froth.

"But I drank wine," Lukeprotested, "and had soup, roastchicken -"

"I had pate and an omelette,"cried Betty.

"You couldn't," Luke began; butthen he checked himself. "Let's goover to the fire. No point in staringat this stuff."

"These are exactly the samechairs," said Betty when theyreached the hearth. "Everythinghe.re's just the same as it was. What·are you looking for?"

"A round tobacco-box and achurchwarden pipe. They were herebefore. I used them. But they'renot here now." He poked aroundfor a minute, while Betty sat silent."Hello! Just what I wanted.""~hat have you found?" She

looked towards the sideboard."Five cigarettes in a packet. Right

at the back here. They must havebeen here some time - very dryand dusty - but they'll do. Wantone?"

"Yes, please. I-Iope it isn't stealing. "

"We'll make it right with somebody in the morning."

They smoked for a while withoutexchanging another word, both ofthem staring into what was left ofthe fire. They had the air of beingsurvivors after some catastrophe.

"What did you want to talk toher about?" Betty asked finally.

IOI

"i\.nything~ Everything. I t didn'tmatter. I hadn't planned a discussion. I just wanted to be with her."

"I did with him.""Yes, I know you did," said

Luke not unamiably. "We're bothin· the same boat."

"That's the one thing that makesit better," she said. "It would havebeen much worse if it had happenedjust to one of us. You're not feelingjealous about him, are YOll?"

"Not yet, though I think I couldbe," he confessed.

"You'r~ not because you're notthinking about me - you're stillthinking about her."

"Do you mind?""No, not yet," she said. ':1'01 like

you. It's the saIne for both of us.We've lost them. And I'm certainneither of them can ever be foundagain. So here \ve are, to make thebest of it."

There was so little light eitherfrom the fire or the splutteringcandles that they might ha..ve beensitting in the dusk of some warmcave. The night still sounded wetand wild; it was easy to imagine anew Deluge beginning out_ there.

"They never seemed ghostly tome, you knqw," said he, after a bit.

"They weren't ghosts." She wasdecisive.

"What were they, then? Peoplein another time? I've read and heardstories about people going back intime."

"I was thinking about that," shesaid eagerly.

102

"But then they merely saw andheard things," he continued slowly,"as spectators. They didn't join inas we did. Talking, holding hands,having supper t9gether."

"Look at the remains of thatsupper there. What a swiz! Typicalof us and our time too."

"No, listen, Betty," he said earnestly. "We must get this bit right.You might be able to slip along thefourth dimension or whatever it is- and don't take me up on this,I'm very hazy about it~ and thenperhaps see people living a hundredand-fifty years ago.But you ,vouldn't really be therewith them, couldn'tjoin in as we did. Otherwise, it\vould mean two different timesthen andnow - overlapping in athird and quite different sort oftime, if you see what I mean."

"No, I don't really, Luke. It'smucH too complicated."

"I know, that's what I'm saying.It's worse than those two \vomenat \'ersailles. But what did happenthen?"

She waited a moment, then beganvery carefully. "This is what Ithink. There \vere two people, SirEd\vard Somebody and his niece,Julia, ,:vho once lived here, and wholooked and behaved like the two\ve sa\v tonight. We arrived herevery tired and on edge, wondering,vhat was going to happen to us, andthen when we relaxed and put theseclothes on - well, Sir Edward andJulia happened. But - no, please,listen, Luke, this is the difficul t part

FAl\;TASY AND SCIENCE FICTIOX

and if you interrupt I may lose thethread of it - but we were neverreally with them. I mean, theyhadn't an independent life, as realpeople have. They looked themselves- we didn't make up their appearance - but what they said and didwas what ,ve wanted them to sayand do, as if we were playwrightsand, they were characters in ourplay -"

"Now wait a minute, Betty," heprotested. "You're not going to tellme that Julia-"

"Yes, I am," she cut in sharply."And Sir Edward too, though Ihate to say so. Didn't they al\vaysbehave as we wanted them to behave? Just think, Luke. I felt someof this at the time."

"You mean you've always \vanteda Sir Edward?" he asked, puzzledand displeased.

"Not consciously, no," she replied, a glint of amusement in herglance. "But he must have represented important things I did \vant,mostly without my knowing it. Justas Julia, who was probably rathera dull girl, a Regency version of thedumb blonde, was all marvellousand magical to you. He made mefeel like that, because that's "~That Iwas wanting somebody to make mefeel. Not always - that's too muchto expect - but at times. And allthe marvellous and magical feelingyou had about Julia belonged toyou, came from some part of youthat'was beginning to feel frustrated.Don't you see, darling," she con-

NIGHT SEQUENCE

tinued in a tone she had not usedwith him for a long time, "that wearrived here not only wet and coldand lost but feeling utterly frustratedand miserable, just angry bits ofourselves that had been workedalmost to death? And the Sir Edwardand Julia we met, not the ones whoreally lived here, we-re those partswe'd neglected and forgotten. Sowe acted in a sort of play withthem. It all started because we putthese clothes on and not our own.\Ve had to behave in a different\vay. But \ve couldn't do it witheach other so we had to have thosetwo as well, to help us out."

"That doesn't quite work," hesaid, "though I see what you mean.He brought me the clothes. Or Ithought he did. Spoke to me too~I was still in my bath then. Didn'ttalk about style - that was later.Did you hear that?"

"Yes," she cried eagerly, "butall that was something, I'm sure,that I hadn't quite thought out fortnyself but that I'd already felt.Don't .you see?"

"What I- do see," he said, witha defiant air, "is thatit's all verywell for some Regency buck to talk about style and the grand mannerin living. He could cope with it, I.can't. But then I haven't got myfoot on anybody's face, have to paymy own way, and po kids get upin the dark to make money for mein cotton mills and coal mines. Ifthat's what his style depends on, hecan have~it. I'll still go tatting round

1°3

pubs and cafeterias wearing a dirtyshirt and oily pants. And you'll stillbe in the fish queue and the two-bobseats at the cinema. But nobody cansay we're living on other people'sdaylight. Style my foot!"

"Yes, yes, of course we couldn'tlive like that," she cried, "but itisn't style your foot .. He didn't saythose things. How could he? Wesaid theine You said them to me. Isaid them to you. That was the onlyway we could do it - to expresswhat ,ve nlust have been feelingdeep down about ourselves and ourlives. And Luke - please --,- don'tbe tough and aggressive about it.We've both had enough of that, andit isn't us, but all a dreary fake anyhow. Just be quiet and think fora minute or two, remembering whatwe were like when we arrived hereand what you felt afterwards."

"We came in wet and snarling,"be said slowly, "and then soon itwas different." As he tried to remember all that had happenedand much of it was confused, incredible - he was aware of Bettywatching him intently, although hereyes were invisible and her facenothing but a pale oval in that dusk.

"If people ever look back on us our generation, I mean - and tryto give a verdict on us," he saidfinally, "they'll have to say we had.a hell of a lot of faults but at leastwe were trying t.o be honest. Nopretence at all costs - that's beenour slogan. No doubt we've gonetoo far -"

1°4

"Much too far," she cried. "I'lnsick of this honesty that leaveseverything looking small, ugly andmean. And there's plenty of pretence too - neurotics pretending tobe tough, tired frightened peoplegetting rough and sexy on gin. Sheerlaziness and sloppiness too - themen can't bother shaving and finding a clean shirt, the girls won'ttake a bath and change their underclothes. Yes, I kno\v it's all moredifficul t - no bod y need tell tnethat - but if we only tried to stopshuffling round and slopping about,jeering at and cheapening life - ifwe brought to it energy and goodhumour and some sense of style -"And here she broke off.

He stood in front of her and tookher hands in his; her hands ",'erecold, so he brought them togetherand began to warm them betweenhis encircling palms. "You felt ashiver down your spine then, didn'tyou?" he said softly. "So did I. It'sa good thing both of us experiencedwhatever happened tonight. If ithad been only one of us -"

"It \-vould have been hopeless,"she told him hastily. "It's becauseit happened to both that there'ssome hope for us. But love isn't justgrabbing sex when you need it andsharing a bath and a frying pan.r\ll women know that. You have towork at it, to build something."

"The trouble is, " he said, "afellow wants to knock off, to takeit easy. Yes, I know, Betty, that heexpects more than he's a right to

FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTIO!\'"

expect. You can't dress a relationship in rags and kick it around, andthen ask it to satisfy a sudden demand for glamour and glory. Andif we stop making these demands,we may soon find ourselves in ananthill-"

"Oh ~ Luke - I'm sure you saidsomething like that," she cried."Don't you remember?"

HI remenlber a little time - partof a dream or some time that doesn'treally belong to us - when youwere a beautiful and bewitching being and I was a noble fellow, burningpoetry and waiting to show you amind that would seem like an enchanted kingdom to you. Yes," hecontinued, "I remember all that andmore, and I'll try never to forget.And because I'll know that you'reremembering too, you'll always seemdifferent from any other woman -"

"Oh - yes, my darling - that'swhat I've been trying to say -"

"What we can do I don't know,and I'm certainly not going to workit out tonight. But from now on,at least, the names of Betty andLuke Gosforth will not be found inany heats of the rat race. And no\\'- for I'm certain \ve have this placeto ourselves - I must find you abed, dear Mrs. Gosforth -"

"There's a large one in that roomwhere I dressed," said Betty, andkissed him. On the way up, shemurmured sleepily: "I still don'tunderstand about these clothes andthe old woman. And they're in this\\'orld all right."

NIGHT SEQUENCE

"They are," he said, "and so, withluck, tomorrow morning ought tobe able to throw some light onthem."

VI

It \vas not a morning to throwmuch light on anything; not rainingstill, bu t with wa ter everywhere,and even the sunlight strugglingthrough an atmosphere that seemedas much water as air. But it broughtthem a Mrs. Rogers, a beaky, birdeyed woman, one of 'those who coveran immense interior good-natureand desire to help with an appearance of snapping fury. She had comeup from the village of her ownaccord; she finished drying theirclothes, gave them hot water, andeven contrived a rough-and-readybreakfast for them; but she neverstopped giving a performance as awoman who had been press-gangedinto a hideous service.

"She's a blessing and all that,"said Luke, over his boiled egg, "butwe'll never find out anything fromher. "

"Yes, we shall," Betty declared,out of her experience of the vastruinous underworld of London chars."Just leave it to me, darling."

"I'd have to do that anyhow. Infive minutes I'n1 off to buy somecigarettes and to find somebodywho'll pull the car out of that ditch.And give this Mrs. Rogers a pound- here you are, while I remember- but suggest she might split itwith last night's old woman, if she

1°5

can be found. By the way, did youever understand anything that oldwoman said?"

"Not much," Betty replied. "ButI'll get it all ou t of this Mrs. Rogers,you'll see."

An hour later, they met in thesmall square hall, and as he lit thecigarette she had imn1ediately demanded, Luke said: "I've got thebags out of the car and arranged forit to be lifted and gone over. I sen ta wire to the studio. And there's ataxi coming in ten minu tes to takeus to the station. What's your news,woman?"

"Straight from the Rogers Service, darling," she replied. "The oldwoman we saw last nigh~ - Mrs.Grashki, or something like thatis a Czech. She looks after this housebut lives with a daughter next doorto Mrs. Rogers. Last night she wasworking late, luckily for us - andwas actually sorting out a mass ofold things. This house has belongedfor centuries to a falnily calledPeriton - all baronets. The presentBaron - Sir Leslie - is in the diplomatic service, so he's always abroad.Well, Mrs. Grashki, \vho's obviouslya character, thought we' looked terrible last night and thought ho\\'much nicer we'd look in some of theold things she'd been sorting out.So she put s'ome _out for us. Thenafter filling our baths - both theboiler and the electric light plantaren't functioning - and scrapingtogether a bit of supper for us,probably having a. peep and a giggle

106

at us, she suddenly thought she'dgone too far, took fright, and ranhome. She was thoroughly soakedof course, found herself laid up withrheumatism, and sent an S.O.S. toMrs. Rogers, who nobly responded.I'm just saying," said Betty as Mrs.Rogers marched in, "you nobly responded to Mrs. Grashki's calL"

"I did what I could," cried Mrs.Rogers angrily, "but if you ask me,that M-rs. Grashki's not all thereplaying tricks like that at' her age and not the first neither. Thinksshe's still abroad, that's her trouble.But Sir Leslie took a fancy to her,being abroad a lot too. That onethere's Sir Leslie's grandfather.- SirEustace," she pointed to one of theportraits.· "And I could tell yousome tales of him too."

"Darling - look!" cried Betty

FANTASY AI\:D SCIENCE FICTION

ra ther shakily. She had gone to takea closer view of Sir Eustace. Hewent across to stand by her side,and then he felt her fingers digginginto his arm until they hurt. "There-..;. don't you see?" And in a momenthe did. The portrait of Sir EdwardPeriton was excellent, although thesitter's brown coat did not come outtoo well. The portrait of I\1iss JuliaPeriton was smaller and less successful, but the tumbling red-goldcurls were admirably suggested, andher white Empire dress, with itspastel blue frill that went round thebare shoulders, was not badly done.

"Yes," said Mrs. Rogers withsome complacency, as she joinedthem, "there's some mor~ -.,andI could tell you some tales of thesePeritons. "

"So could I," said Luke.

Coming 'l\[,ext ~onthWard Moore is, I'm firmly convinced, one of the most importantliving writers of science fiction, ranking with Bradbury and Clarkeand Sturgeon in that small group which simultaneously creates s.f.and literature; and your letters concerning such stories as Lot andBring thi]uhilee indicate that Moore is also one of the most popularpurveyors of stimulating .entertainment. In our next issue (on thestands aroW1d March I), Moore's novelet No Man Pursueth is at oncea character study of a charming actress and a tale of a strange disturbance in time_ - and I think you'll agree it's one of Moore's beststories yet. -The other feature novelet is J. Francis Mc~omas' SpockTreatment, a dramatic venture into the almost untouched field of future penology. There'll be short s~ories by Robert Bloch, Tom Godwin, John Novotny and others,_ and an official article by the UnitedStates Air Force presenting the USAF's views (and the statisticalreasons therefor) on Unidentified Aerial Objects - to the layman,.. flying saucers. "

I don't know why the Rosicrucians believe that .science-ftction readers areparticularly likely converts to their Ancient and Mystical Order: I shouldhave thought the opposite would be true. But anyone who reads s.f. is boundto ha-pe seen the alluring advertisements of AMORC (and thes.e ads· mustdraw replies from the .r.f. audience, or AMORC would stop running them- a disturbing -thought), and it's high time that this group of readers wasoffered a summary of the facts behind the mystic claims. I'm pleased to saythat this is the first of a series of articles for F&S F, on widely varied topics,by L. Sprague de Camp, who knows more facts about more (and odder) subjects than seems decently possible for one man. Watch for another de Camparticle here soon.'

What Is a l{osicrucian?hy L SPRAGUE DE CAMP

IF YOU READ MANY MAGAZINES, youhave come across the advertisementsof the Ancient and Mystical OrderRosae Crucis, otherwise AMORCor The Rosicrucians.

These advertisements run to pictures of planets and nebulae andnaked individuals striking inspirational attitudes. They are headed',THE MAGIC OF MIND; WHATSTRANGE PO\VERS DID THEANCIENTS POSSESS?; CANWE RECOLLECT OUR PASTLIVES?; and A SECRET METHODFOR THE MASTERY OF LIFE.They contain intriguing hints aboutthe wisdom of the ancient Egyptiansand Pythagoreans. Perhaps you didnot know that AMORC is but oneof several self-styled Rosicrucian so-

1°7

cieties, though it is the most aggressive and the most extravagant inits self-advertisements. Maybe youwould like to know how Rosicrucianism really started and what itamounts to.

Rosicrucianism arose out of alchemy in the seventh century. Alchemy was the pseudo-science ofseeking the Philosopher's Stone toturn base metals to gold and toprolong life indefinitely. "Alchemy"and "chemistry" were originally oneand the same word, and the discipline that the word symbolizedwas a mixture of science and magic.Th~ words and the concepts theysymbolized gradually drew apart inthe sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as science and magic spli t.

108

Of the tnany men who claimedthe name of "alchemist" in theMiddle and Early Modern Ages,most were pioneer_ experimentalists.Although they mixed magic withscience, they nevertheless foundedmodern chemistry. They wrote in atechnical jargon which they madeas obscure as they could to keep theirtrade secrets. They talked grandly·of the \vonderful chemical fea ts theyhoped to accomplish. But never, sofar as we can tell, did they ever reallysucceed in making the gold or theElixir of Life.

Besides the alchemists who labored in the smoke of their laboratories and sometimes died of thefumes, others \vho claimed the namewere ·simple s\vindlers. Still otherswere mystics who wrote moralistictreatises in alchemical language orused this language and ~y.mbolism

to promote fraternal organizations.Of these last, the most celebratedwere the Rosicrucians. They werefamous in spite of the fact thatthere is a lot of doubt who they\\'ere, or even whether they existed.

Rosicrucianism first appeared in1614 in Cassel, Germany. It tookthe form of an anonymous pamphletcalled Fama Fraternitatis, a Discoveryofthe Fraternity ofthe Most LaudableOrder ofthe Rosy Cross.

This manifesto, which defied thepope and denounced alchemy, described the career of a mysteriousperson called "c. R. C." Thisprodigy, said the pamphlet, was aDutchlnan born in 1378. As a boy,

FAl'TASY AND SCIENCE FICTIO!':

c. R. C. had gone to the OrierlLThere he studied the wisdom of theancients in Damascus and otherMuslim centers. He visited the secret city of Damcar in Arabia, wherehe translated the Arabic Book M.This seems to be another unwrittenclassic like the Book of T/zoth andH. P. Lovecraft's NecronOnlicoll.

To hand on his ideas ",hen he returned to Europe, C. R. C. foundeda fraternity of eight members, whomhe swore to celibacy and a century ofsecrecy. The author of the nlanifestoexplained that the century was nowup. Therefore the fra terni ty wasasking for new membe"rs, who wouldform a great open conspiracy to reform Europe. The writer urged any-body who ,vas interested to publish~e~iers sho\ving he was ,villing toJOIn.

Next year there appeared a COlll

panion-piece to the first. "fhis wasConfession of the R. C. Fraternity, tothe Erudite of Europe: an equallywindy manifesto warning Europethat the Rosicrucians were about totuake it over in the image of the wiseArabs of Damcar. Like its predecessor, this book is obvious IJutheranpropaganda. All this happened, youwill note, at the start of the Wars ofReligion. The Confession denouncesthe pope as "i\.ntichrist" and uses arose-and-:cross motif derived fromLuther's seal. The seal of MartinLuther looked like this: an Olldineofa rose (including the stem and twoleaves) on which is superimposeda small symbol consisting of a heart

\VHAT IS A ROSICRUCIAN?

and a cross combined, the cross beingabove (that is, gro\ying out of thetop of) the heart.

The third book of the Rosicruciancanon, The Chymical !vIarriage ofChristian Rosenkreuz, Anno /459,first men tioned the Inysterious HerrRosenkreuz, the suppositive Dutchman, by name. This was the agewhen scholarly men bore t\VO names,a vernacular name and a Latin name.In La ~in, Christian Rosenkreuz \vouldbe Christianus Rosae Crucis, whencethe initials C. R. C.

The Chymical j\1arriagc belongs toa class of alchemistic-Inystical writings \vhich describe a dreamlikesequence of fantastic adventures ina world of alchemical symbols.

The story tells how a lovely female angel delivered to the narratoran invitation to a royal wedding.Delighted, he stuck four roses in hishat and set forth. After wonderingwhich of four roads to take, hereached a. "stately portal" and wasadmitted.

Passing through a series of gates,the narrator had adven tUres witha lion, a Virgin, and a troop of invisible barbers. At last he arrivedat a disorderly banquet. This isplainly a satire on seventeenthcentury Europe, with boasters andcharlatans robbing simple-mindednobles. Another Virgin weighed everybody. Those·\vho were not heavyenough were stripped, whipped, beheaded, or otherwise punished. Thenarrator witnessed the beheadingand resurrection of six royal per-

1°9

sonages. Then he accidentally cameupon a.sleeping Venus, for \vhich sinhe too was punished. I

Such narratives abound in alchemical treatises. Their imagery is oftenheavily sexual, as when, in Madathanas' Golden Age Restored, King Solomon has his harem stripped for theinspection of the narrator and giveshiln the girl of his choice. Thesepuzzling compositions may be considered as Freudian wish-fulfilmentdream-sequences, or as disguised alchemical recipes, or, by a l-Ierculeaneffort, as both a t once.

The Rosicrucian manifestoesaroused Inuch excitement. .SOlnemen did publish letters as directed,but, so far as is known, none everreceived a reply. Probably no suchsociety existed.

Later on, similar publications appeared. These were obvious hoaxes.In 1623, for example, a wag postedin Paris a manifesto reading:

,,We the deputies of the principalCollege of the Rose-cross have takenup our abode, visible and invisible,in this city by the grace of the MostHigh, towards whom are turned thehearts of the just. We show andteach without books and signs, .andspeak all sorts of languages in thecountries where we dwell, to drawmankind, 'our fellows; from errorand death."

Within a few weeks, anti-Rosicrucian books appeared purporting toshow that these Rosicrucians weremagicians of the deepest black. But

lID

st~ll, nothing came of all the rumpus.The likeliest author of the original

Rosicrucian manifestoes is JohannValentin Andrea, an earnest youngLutheran pastor of Stuttgart witha passion for reforming the world bysecret societies. In his posthumouslypublished autobiography, Andreamade the remarkable claim to having written the Chyn'lical Marriageat the age of fifteen. Moreover hisseal, like Luther's, used the roseand-cross motif: an X \vith four·roses in t~e angles.

It has been suggested that Andreawrote the manifestoes either as ahoax or in the real hope of startingthe society. In the latter case, it issupposed, he got cold feet when thereplies began to come in. Others(like Waite and Spence,noted writers on the occult) object that a manof Andrea's "known intellectual nobility" would not have perpetrateda joke of such "wickedness andcruelty."

However, Andrea's intellectual nobility is a matter of opinion. Eitherhe wrote at least part of the canon t

or lied~ when he said he did. Youhave to judge his character fromwhat he did; you can't tell what hedid from what you think you knowof his character. Anyway, manyotherwise honest men see" nothingvery wicked in such a deceit, regarding persons who take such occult pronouncements seriously asfair game. And perhaps, as I havesaid, Andrea did hope at one timeto do saIne good this way.


In any case, the manifestoes wereevidently the work of one or moreLutherans, adherents of the doctrines of the physician and alchemistParacelsus. He and they believed inelemental spirits, the doctrine ofsignatures (that God had givenherbs the shapes needed to showmen what sort ofmedicine they wereg~od for), and pseudo-alchemisticmysticism.

They were plainly men of theearly seventeenth century and notancient Egyptians, Pythagoreans,or Atlanteans. Perhaps the Rosicrucians were connected with the MilitiaCrucifera Evangelica, or Cross'-Bearing Evangelical Soldiery, a sort ofLutheran storm troop establishedsome years before in Niirnberg bythe alchemist Simon Studion. Butthe exact truth, like much else inoccult history, is probably gone beyond recall.

Among those taken in by theoriginal Rosicrucian literature, theGerman alchemist Michael Maier(1568-1622) wrote in defense ofRosicrucians without ever havingknown them in the flesh. His example was followed by the English mystic Thomas Vaughan. This Vaughan,twin brother of Henry Vaughan thepoet, perished by inhaling mercuryvapor during an alchemical experiment in 1666. Another defender ofthe Rosicrucians was the astrologerJohn Heydon, a picturesque character who kept a familiar spiritnamed Taphzabnezeltharthaseraphimarab. Heydon wrote of visiting a

\VHAT IS A ROSICRUCIA:"1?

magnificent underground Rosicrucian castle in the west of England,\vith jeweled tableware, and of voyaging to a gilded Rosicrucian utopiaon an island in the Arabian Sea.

Later on, many novelists used theRosicrucian theme in their stories.Percy Bysshe Shelley did one (underthe pseudonym of "A Gentleman ofthe University of Oxford") calledSt. Irvine; or, the Rosicrucian (18 I I).Another was An Adventure amongthe Rosicrucians (1887) by Dr. FranzHartmann, writing as "A Student ofOccultism." Hartmann was a physician from Colorado who went toIndia to become a chela of MadameBlavatsky, founder of Theosophy.

The best-known Rosicruciannovel, which however does not usethe word "Rosicrucian," is LordBulwer-Lytton's Zanoni (1853). Thistells about an English artist, Glyndon, who is visiting in I taly in thelate eighteenth century. He is befriended by Zanoni, one of the lasttwo members of an ancient magicalbrotherhood obviously modeled onthe Rosicrucians though not named.Glyndon stays at the castle of Zanoni's colleague Mejnour. With thefoolhardiness of heroes in stories ofthe "idiot-plot" type, Glyndonevokes a veiled female spook. Thisspecter, the Dweller on the Threshold (not to be confused with Lovecraft's Lurker on the Threshold),haunts him ever after. There is atangle of love-affairs, resolved bygetting the characters caught in theFrench Revolution and cutting off

I I I

the heads ofall but Glyndon, thoughit is hard to see why the authorsaved him except that he is English.

Such publicity has kept the Rosicrucians vaguely in the public mindduring the last three centuries, longafter Andrea and Studion have beenforgotten. There have been many"Rosicrucian" societies from thatday to this," each claiming identitywith the probably mythical Rosicrucians of Andrea's time while calling all other claimants impostors.

During the eighteenth century,certain men tried to organize Masons of high degree into "Rosicrucian" inner-circle groups. All thesedwindled away to nothing, butScottish Rite Masonry still has a"Rosicrucian" advanced degree, introduced in the nineteenth century,as a vestigial trace of these efforts.

In 178 I the Prussian king, Friedrich Wilhelm II, joined a Rosicrucian society. Upon his accession, heappointed the leaders of the society,Wollner and Bischoffswerder, as hisministers. These men promptlybrought Prussia under a sort ofLutheran Inquisition as oppressiveand anti-intellectual as the Inquisition of Spain.

In mid-nineteenth century, someEnglish Masons formed a SocietasRosicruciana in Anglia with Dr. W.Wynn .Westcott, a prominent English occultist, as Supreme Magus.The objectives of the S. R. I. A.were said to be "literary and anti...quarian," but, though the organization had branches in Canada and the

112

United States, it accomplished littlebeyond serving annual dinners andcollecting five shillings a year fromthe members. At the same time, several clubs claiming Rosicrucian con..nections appeared· in France.

Th.e exact history of all theselittle cliques is hard to discover andhardly,_ in fact, worth discovering.They continually spring up withclaims to immense antiquity ~d

transcendental wisdom, split likeamebas, and die out, leaving a fossildeposit of books and pamphlets inlibraries. They generally claim thattheir alchemy is moral and metaphysical, though they hint that highdegree members sometimes makea little gold just to keep their handsin. They quarrel viciously, eachclaiming that while it is "secret," itsrivals are "clandestine." The dictionary gives "clandestine" as asynonym for "secret," but in fraternal circles "clandestine" is a dirtyword.

In t\ventieth-century America,Rosicrucianism has been mainly represented by the sQcieties of Heindel,Clymer, Plummer,and Lewis.

In 1909, G. (for George) WinslowPlummer started a Society of Rosicrucians in New York City. Thishas continued to publish insipidinspira tional Ii te ra ture since itsfounder's death in 1944.

Max Heindel, after studying occultism under the schismatic Austrian Theosophist Rudolf Steiner,had his destiny revealed to him in


a trance. In this vision, his Mahatmaordered him to emigrate to Oceanside, California, and set up aRosicrucian Fellowship. He ran this clubfrom 191 I to his death in 1919, andat last accounts the organization ,vasstill in being.

Since 1905, R. (for Reuben)Swinburne Clymer has run a Rosicrucian Fraternity in Quakertown,Pennsylvania, which appears to beconcerned mainly with book-pubJishing. Clymer (the Supreme GrandMaster of the Supreme Grand Lodgeand the Hierarch of Eulis) claimsthat his organization comes downfrom the fictitious lost continent ofAtlantis via the nineteenth-centuryAmerican occultists Lippard, Randolph, Dowd, and Brown, and preserves the Atlan tean fire-worshipwhence all modern creeds are sprung.Clymer's forerunner, ~he 1\!ewThoughtist P. (for Paschal) BeverlyRandolph (1825-75), had troublewith the police for publishing bookson sex-hygiene at a time when suchbooks were considered obscene.

H. (for Harve) Spencer Lewis wasan egg-shaped man with a goateeand a saintly indifference to dirtunder his fingernails. He worked asa magazine-illustrator until he gotthe Rosicrucian urge in 1915. Hecollected some acquaintances in NewYork City and issued a "pronunziamento" setting up the Ancient andMystical Order Rosae Crucis in theUnited States ofAmerica, now knownasA·MORC.

The "Pronunziamento" left no

\VHAT IS A ROSICRUCIAN? 113

doubt as to who was to be boss: in 1939, his son has continued the". . . the Order in America shall bu~iness, mainly the giving of coradopt strictly autocratic principles respondence courses in occultism, atof governnlent." Constitution, offi- the old stand.cers, Grand Council, and the rest These lessons, while they promisewere mere foofaraw, and ex-mem- to teach you to project your astralbers have complained of anonymous body whither you will and accomthreats in case they revealed secrets plish other marvels, are merely aof the Order. hash of Neoplatonism, Kabbalism,

True, Lewis wrote elsewhere that: Theosophy, Baconianism, and simi"The organization has no national or lar forms of the Higher Foolishness..international founders, leaders, or Lewis asserted that his order wasdiscoverers, to whom personal alle- founded by Pharaoh Ahmose Igiance must be pledged at any time (sixteenth century B.C.; also spelledor in any manner. All officers of Aahmes, Amasis, etc.) t and claimedthe organization are elected...." the Essenes (a puritanical JewishBut such inconsistency is highly sect of the time of Christ) as fellowcharacteristic of Rosicrucian doc- members.trines, as it is indeed of all such He also borrowed TheosoJ1hy'seclectic schools. Lewis ridiculed the Great White Brotherhood. and itsteachings of Theosophy and then Master Koot Hoomi (or Kut-Hu-Mipropounded doctrines much like as Lewis spells it) but rejected itsthem. In one place he assures his multiple souls. and. vegetarianism.readers that they need not fear at- Besides its courses, AMORC pubtack from a distance by magic be- lishes books on pyramidology, Lecause "the. Cosmic space will not muria, and similar pseudo-scientifictransmit such destructive thoughts," foibles.while in another place in the same When, in the 1920'S, the publishbook he warns that "Millions each ers of the Encyclopaedia Britannicayear are mentally poisoned ..." compiled their Fourteenth Edition,and so on.* they thought to popularize the work

After a checkered career, Lewis. by getting people with big names toand his AMORC found a lasting write articles on the fields in whichhome in San Jose, California, where they had become famous: Jameshe built an imitation Egyptian tem- Joseph Tunney on pugilism, HenrypIe as headquarters. Since his death Ford on mass-production, and so on.

*H. Spencer Lewis: Rosicrucian Questions and Answers (1929-41), p. 21 I, and Rosicrucitffl Manual (1918-38), pp. 157, 200.

t More recent official AMORe doctrine, as disclosed to the press by lodge masterAlbert Fink, specifies that the order was founded by Amenhotep IV in 1350 B.C.

(Oakland, Calif., Tribune, Sept. 16, 1955). - A.B.

114

The result may have been a livelierencyclopaedia, but it was certainlyone with a lower standard of scholarship than the preceding editions.Lewis had the singular good luck tobe asked to write the article Rosicrucianism, thus enshrining his ownsomewhat fictional version of thehistory of the movement in a nichewhere few would have the nerve tocriticize it. Naturally, he worked inan adroit plug for his own organization, so that to this day you can readthere that AMORC purveys theonlY genuine occult snake-oil; accept no substitutes and beware ofimitations.

Lewis' enemy Clymer accusedhim of having taken his ideas fromthe notorious Bri tish magus AleisterCrowley (1875-1947) :occultist,poet,explorer, moun taineer, big-gamehunter, and also professional screwball aI1d bogey-man. This mayormay not be true. During their longfeud, Lewis challenged Clymer to apublic debate as to which was thebigger faker. Clymer counter-challenged Lewis to an investigation oftheir respective organizations by acommittee of Masons.

As far as an outsider can judge,nei ther really wanted anything ofthe sort. Both retreated, throwingup a barrage of objections andqualifications like a cloud of inkfrom a fugitive squid.

The Rosicrucians display certainfeatures that are common to thewhole occult fraternity, whether inprimitive or in. civilized society.

FANTASY AND SCIE!'\CE FICTION

Such clubs pretend to vast age,though their life-histories in actualfact are short and full of change andtrouble. Their poli tics seethe withschisms and skulduggery. Theyquarrel furiously over claims ofpriority and authenticity. (As asmall example, the Ngbe of Nigeria,a priestly-phallic society, claims tobe the "original Egbo," though it isactually an offshoot, not a parent,of the great Egbo Society.)

The fraternal occultists seize uponfragmen ts of ancient lore to lend aspurious glamor of antiquity to theirown synthetic doctrines and rituals.For example, the Knights ofPythias,which was founded in 1864 by aU. S. government clerk named Rathbone and once numbered three-'quarters of a million, claimed inspiration from the Pythag~rean

Brotherhood, a philosophical sectwhich in ancient times flo4rishedamong the Greeks of Southern Italy.

The still larger Odd FeHows asserted affinity ,vith the Essenes andsimilar ancient orders, real andImagInary.

The Perfektibilisten (founded1776) of the German law-professorAdam Weishaupt were supposed tobe connected with the Rosicruciansand with the Spanish Christianmystics called "Illuminati." However, Weishaupt's real objective wasnot magic, but revolutionary republican politics. His occulthintswere a mere veneer to conceal histrue aims.

.Their doctrines are a mishmash of

\VHAT IS A ROSICRUCIAN r

bor~owings from a variety of oldersources, regardless of whether theolder doctrines make sense or evenwhether they are consistent withone another. Any idea that has ever:captivated any considerable group ofpeople is likely to turn up in thecanon of any occult school, regardless of how thoroughly it has beenexploded. Occult doctrines are compiled on the principle that, to manypeople, the fact that they cannotunderstand something proves that

I I5

it must be old, wise, and profound.So, the more obscure and incomprehensible the better.

But to paraphrase Dr. Durant,charlatanism is an institution witha venerable past and a promisingfutlJre. As long as people continueto wan.t something for nothingmoney without work, knowledgewithout study, virtue without selfdiscipline - so long will organizations of the Rosicrucian type continue to flourish.

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F&SF, as a better magaZine of science fiction, prides itself on presentingthe earlier stories of the more interesting newer writers. Helen Urban,hitherto as little known to American readers, here extrapolates a moreexasperating verbal trend.

crhe Finer Breedhy HELEN M. URBAN

CAPTAIN PORTER GRUMBLED AND

spun the selector. There was PsycheDrama ("Passion Unleashed"), Psyche-Advice ("The Soul and the Unexpressed Comparative"), Space-Recruit ("Glamor on the Startrails"),Sin-Confession ("Seduced by a Sadist"), the ever-present Center Station reenactlnent, and Northwest'susual sustainer - music.

He swept through the channelsonce again, then returned to CenterStation's commercial. He had toadmit it was a better effort. North"vest Station needed a finer slogan.,Something to more fully catch the'interest of Northwest's clients.

The announcer's voice had theunctuous hush of the more reveren t:"Remember, the next time you goout for a nigh t of less restraineddebauchery - feel the need of confinement - _call your nearer CenterStation officer for a more neat, moreprecise arrest."

The announcer's voice becamemore important: "And now, folks,

our hourly special! Flash! DoctorEmering Sitskin, more absolu t~lyand with little fear of fail, will certifyfor most everything from a lapse ofgood taste to a fuller operating selfexpression episode. Think of it, folks!Doctor Emering Sitskin! At CenterStation!"

The scene faded to the CenterStation control room. The chronographer counted down the time toDoctor Sitskin's sample certification of a Passive Anal-Fixed Degenerate (Sniffer type).

"- five - four - three - twoone-zero! You're on, Doctor Sitskin!"

Captain Porter growled andturned off the TV.

Lieutenant Jimmy growled in abetter imitation of his captain as hesaid, "Why can't we have that sortof finer public relations rnaterial,Captain?"

"Taxes!" the captain exploded."If we had the men to collect thetaxes to pay more men, we'd have

116

THE FINER BREED

the money to hire nlore BIen tocollect the taxes t~ support a betterpublic relations officer."

Lieutenant Jimmy looked at hiscaptain with. more awe and moreadmiration. ··Captain Porter. Sir.'Vas that - ?"

Captain Porter smiled slightlydeprecatingly and adlnitted it rathergruffly.

Lieutenant Jilumy felt better. Hehad spotted a Third Level LogicStatement! He began to whistle agayer, catchier tune as softly untilPorter snapped a sharper reproof.

HThat's C.enter's sing-off.".Jimmy flushed as quickly, quoting

Center's slogan more bitterly: "Cen"ter Station, the Better Station. Betterthan what?"

Captain Porter gasped at the obscenity.

Jimmy blanched and streamed:HJimmy is as profoundly ashamed!An anti-adult, sub..social expression!Jimmy knows the more normal repress all more along the line. Orbecome clients !"

He ended his streanl wi th asengaging a smile.

Captain Porter patted his hand.HMore beautifully put, my boy.The bett.er officer represses. That'sa prime. Watch your streaming and,well- who knows?" l\~ as jauntilyrecited, "T.L.L.T. means ThirdLevel Logic Training! The BetterTraining for More DiscriminatingPeople!" He patted Jimmy's handagain. "T.L.L.T. could be for you,Jimmy."

117

The clients' bell sounded, cuttinginto Jimmy's more enthusiasticheartfelter, more rapturous expressions of thanks.

Porter ans\vered the alarm:"Northwest Station respondingmore readily!"

"Come and get nle," a fain tervoice pleaded.

"Name, please!" Porter repriInanded as severely.

The faint voice firmed up at thereproof: "White; blue eyes; brownhair; five feet nine; type IA; male;file clerk at the !\1ore TriufnphantMercantile Association Incorporatedand Better Integrated; paid up atNorthwest Station for the currentquarter; residence permit No. 790,°38,659,234; Wolfgang Jones."

Porter smiled as pleasurable asmile at the neater precision, andrequested as kindly, ~'Type of illness?"

Jones replied as pridefully: '~Self

expression episode."Porter drew in his breath more

sharply and motioned to Jimmy tocheck Jones's tax status, thensnapped more quickly, "Service?"

"A fuller scale pickup, of course,"Jones announced as awesomely.

"Stay by the call box; we'll senda squad out sooner."

Porter was all more businesslike.He punched the fuller scale pickupalarm and the roof siren cu t looser,bringing flocks of people into thestreet for the turnout.

He switched the microphone tomake-up: dSend down five men,

I] 8

made Up for a rather full scaleoperation. A self-expression case!"he announced more importantly.

He rang the garage: "Bring thelarger ambulance to the squad roomdoor. "

His voice quivered as he alertedtheir doctor: "A self-expression case,Doctor Tremblay!"

Doctor Tremblay replied asbrightly, "We'll have him as ,veilcertified, ready for psyche-processing, in shorter order, Captain."

"Better lad," Porter stated, asenthused.

The television truck pulled outwith siren screaming; the productioncrew, its scenery truck as behind,falling into line; the officers, freshfrom make-up, in their neater,whiter smocks, rubberer gloves andmore sterile masks, leaped into the.larger" ambulance and drew into theprocession, the riot gun carrier rightbehinder.

Captain Porter tuned to Northwest's TV channel and sat down tosweat it out. \\Tould Jones fail thestation?

With the morc' n1uted rUlnble oftimpani, with Northwest's as glittering fanfare, the more vivid reenactn1ent of Jones's episode montaged on the screen. From fourfuller dimensional sound speakerscame Jones's stream of self-statementsu b-plus-upper consciousness exteriorizations of his ·loneliness syndrome.

His rejection! His \vife! ~rhat

poorer breakfast!

F:\~T:\S\' A~D SCIEl\:CE FICTIO~

Jones buried his head in his hands;more tortured, further driven.

Jones fought self-expression, andPorter tensed as ecstatic; it was afiner, lighter, more satisfying wash.He felt Jones's despair-cadenced footsteps; his tom-tonl heartbeats; thechild's throat in Jones's hands! Whirling across the screen in tenser ghastlines~ . . . child on child . . . hischildhood on this childhood, melting in to one. This child is Jones andJones kills hinlself, casting the limpform at the mother's feet. Thechild's mother screams - Jones'smother! His symbol! Jones's victory! Porter's victory! He was asidentified.

Northwest's fanfare; more radiantly triumphant for Jones's slowermore dran1atic walk to the call box.

Porter felt drained, as completelywashed - would Jones repeat hiserror? The fury of his suspense astightly dominated Porter as thepicture closed in·on Jones's face.

"White; blue eyes; brown hair;five feet nine . . ." Jones dronedwith his face as ,vooden.

Captain Porter sighed deeper andwiped away the s,veat of his moreterrified apprehension. \Volfgan gJones had come througher!

·'Sounder client," he breathed,then bent to prepare Jones's bill.

Porter ,vas as rededicated to hisfiner goal: the better public servant,running the finer tax-supported institution for the greater city andthe grander planet in the moresplendid solar systenl.

THE FINER BREED

"A better station for our clients,through service,'~ he mused experimentally, then reached for a pencil.He had it! The finer slogan!'

"Better Station, For BetterClients, Through Service!"

He tipped his chin higher. "~lore

apt," he stated. "And lnuch moreapt than Center's-"

Then he stopped, aghast.He dropped his hands to his sides

and stood up. His .face was drainedof life. From one moment to thenext, from a sane man whose com-paratives \vere decently uncompleted to an uncontrolled degenera te\\rho thanned and superlatived. Heran his hands through his hair indesperation, full desperation, complete desperation, .the clutch of episode upon him, the madness of uncontrolled behavior descending overhis mind.

119

With one 1atter gasp of saneagony, with as ultimate a shred ofhis contact with reality he stumbledto his control panel and rang forDoctor Tremblay and commitment.At Northwest's finer .moment, he,its finer captain, .had failed whenthe chips \vere further down.

A panorama of possibilities s\veptacross his nlind - the terror streamof humanity throughout the galaxyif everyone should suddenly giveway to superlatives and completedcomparisons - then he slipped intofull psychosis and shook his fist inthe direction of Center Station.

"Northwest Station, the bestpolice station in the whole galaxy,barring none!" ·

Then he sank to the floor in ababbling retreat to wait for DoctorTremblay and his most refined, hisfinest officers.

l{ecommended l{eadingThe best science-fantasy books of 1955

by ANTHONY BOUCHER

TEN ~10NTHS AGO I BURST OUT IN

something of a jeremiad in this departn1ent, asking loudly "All right;what science fiction boom?" andfrom the available data concluding,among other things, that ·"aftermore than five years of experimentand promotion, science fiction is nota significant part of book publish...ing. "

No\v, as I write this shortly beforeChristmas, the final returns on 1955are in - and Had I But Knownwhat dire doom lurked ahead of us,I might have been Inore embittered.

For 1955 ,vas, unquestionably,the year in which the bubble burst.In regular hardcover trade publishing, the number of science fictiontitles declined to 30 - a slump of37% from the previous year and of44% from the peak year 1953 ...and even a falling off of 14% from1949, the experimental year whichsupposedly launched the "boom."And sales of individual titles declined correspondingly, to the pointwhere a firstrate book by a wellknown author, published by a majorfirm, could receive rave reviews andincredibly sell under 2,000 copies.

]20

The picture was somewhat bri~hter

in paperback originals and in simultaneous hard-and-paper publication, but not enough so to halt thedownward trend of s.f. books as awhole. The total number of new s.f.titles, in all forms, dropped 2 I %from 74 to 59 - and how minute,comparatively, that number 59 is,you may gather from the fact thatmysteries in 1955, a slightly belowaverage year, ran to around 300titles, 200 in hard covers plus another 100 in paper originals.

There are 24 publishing houses,at present, which bring out regularlists of mystery and suspense novels,18 in hardcovers and 6 in paper.At the end of 1955, there were exactly 3 houses (one hard, one paper,one simultaneous) steadily in themarket for science fiction.

As to the quality,. rather thanquantity, of 1955's s.f. bookswell, here one can be a good dealmore cheerful. It didn't reach theheight~ of 1953, a peak year in allrespects; but it compared favorablywith any other period, and continued to indicate that science fiction can, both in its ideas and in its

RECOM!\-lENDED READING

literary values, make an importantcontribution to our modern culture- if only that culture will wake upto s.f. 's existence as something apartfrom conlic books and monster films.

Perhaps the smaller number ofs.f. titles may, in another year, meansharply increased average quality,reader-recognition of the good uncluttered by the dull and opportunistic, and eventually substantialsales per title. This is, at any rate,the hope that writers, editors andpublishers are clinging to - and itshould stand a good chance of fulfilment if the future continues toproduce books as admirable as thesebest specimens of 1955.

S.F. NOVELS

One hopeful sign of creativity in1955 was the increase in the numberof original novels, and particularlyfirst novels by authors previouslyassociated with shorter fiction. Thefull-length debuts of H. ChandlerElliott, Jack Finney and especiallyDamon Knight were not whollysuccessful but gave marked promisefor the future; and Philip K. Dickachieved, in his first long story, analmost Heinleinesque blend ofactionmelodrama and logical creation of acivilization. Leigh Brackett desertedspacc-ron1ance for her first seriousimaginative novel, and proved thatshe could rival veterans Clarke and.Wyndham. C. M. Kornbluth sustained his high average with the firstgood treatment to date of the Russian-occupied-America theme; and

121

Fredric Brown turned out the year'sonly genuinely funny s.E. novel . . .with the exception of Wibberley'sdelightful satire, so wholly charmingthat I'll listen to no nonsensicalargument about whether it can bestrictly classified as s.E.THE LONG TOMORROW, by LeighBrackett (Doubleday, $2.95*)MARTIANS, GO HOME, by FredricBrown (Dutton, $2.75*)EARTHLIGHT, by Arthur C. Clarke(Ballantine, $2.75*; paper, 35c)SOLAR LOTTERY, by Philip K. Dick(Ace, 35c)

,NOT THIS AUGUST, by C. M. Kornbluth (Doubleday, $2.95*)THE MOUSE THAT ROARED, by Leonard Wibberley (Little, Blown,$3.50 *)RE-BIRTH, by John Wyndham (Bal-lantine, $2*; paper, 35c)

S.F. SIIORT STORIES

Collections by Theodore Sturgeon and by Henry Kuttner andC. L. Moore were (as is hardly surprising) of the highest quality, butcontained too high a proportion ofstories familiar from earlier reprintings to rank among the best ne\vbooks. Both Asimov and Olivermore wisely selected only the unfamiliar; and Oliver chose his storiesso carefully and added such excellen t

ne\v material never published inmagazines that his collection is, tomy taste, not only the best group ofshort stories but the outstandingscience fiction book of the year.Priestley's round-up of his shorter

122

pieces on the nature of Time (one ofwhich you'll find in this issue ofF&SF) and Lord Russell's wittyand penetrating nightmares are welcome contributions from authorsnot specializing in our field.THE MARTIAN WAY, by Isaac Asimov(Doubleday, $2.95*) -ANOTHER KIND, by Chad Oliver(Ballantine, $2*; paper, 35c)THE OTHER PLACE, by J. B. Priestley(Harper, $3*)NIGHTMARES OF EMINENT PERSONS,

by Bertrand Russell (Simon &

Schuster, $3.50*)

S.F. ANTHOLOGIES

The department hardest hit bythe slump in s.f. was the anthology,which blasted down from 1954'sfantastic high of 25 titles to a mere10, with hardcover anthologizationat its (not unwelcome) nadir since1949. · Quality slipped as well asquantity, with even such reliableveterans as Groff Conklin and Frederik Pohl letting their standardsdown somewhat; but the infallibleMiss Merri! co"ntinued on her tasteful way, and Donald Wollheim didhis most mature and creative editingsince his pioneering POCKET BOOK

OF S.-P. ( 1943).GALAXY OF GHOULS, edited by JudithMerri! (Lion, 35c)TERROR IN THE MODERN VEIN,

edited by Donald A. Wollheim(Hanover, $3'95*)

S.F. CRITIQUE

I am still hopeful tha t SOlneone


will produce the definitive history ofscience fiction, comparable to Ho'Y"ard Haycraft's books on the detective story. Mean\vhile Basil Davenport's brief volume is the perfectintroduction to the field; try it onany friends who wonder why an in..t.elligent, literate, cultivated person(like you) considers science fictionimportant.INQUIRY INTO SCIENCE FICTION, byBasil Davenport (Longmans, Green,$2.50 .)

S.f'. UNCLASSIFIABLE

This one is not a novel, nor anessay, nor a humor-book, nor evenquite a conventional satire. It issimply a precise study of the historical consequences when H. sapiensbegins to be born tailed - a modelof logical extrapolation and deadpanacuity.THE AGE OF THE TAIL, by H. l\llenSmith (Little, Brown, $3*)

FANTASY

In a year of very little u pure"fantasy, Manning Coles plays captivatingly absurd games with ghostsan<i crime; Bradbury revises hisfirst (1947) collection of stories intoa volume debatable if you know theoriginal, essential if you don't; and ;Tolkien continues \vith the secondvolume of his magnificent epic mythof hobbits and the Middle World.(And where is the third and finalvolume, which was announced forpublication in the fall of I955?)THE OCTOB}:R COUNTRY, by Ray

RECOMl\fE:'oJ"DEO READ! NG

Bradbury (Ballantine, $3.50*)HAPPY RETURNS, by Manning Coles(Doubleday, $3*)THE TWO TOWERS, by J. R. R. Tolkien (Houghton Mifflin, $5*)

FOLKLORE

E very reader of imaginative fiction will find stimulus in the analysesof possible truth behind legend byProfessor Daniel and other BBClecturers, and incomparably livelyentertainment in IJrofessor Randolph's assemblage of Ozark folktales.MYTH OR LEGEND?, by G. E. Danieland others (Macmillan, $2.50*)THE DEVIL'S PRETTY DAUGHTER, collected by Vance Randolph (Columbia University, $3·75*)

NON-FICTION

The popularizers of space are stillwith us, particularly on the teen-agelevel; but few of their products caninterest the science fiction reader,who is well ahead of them already.The most indoctrinated enthusiast,however, should welcome the clearconcise text of Clarke and the accurate visualizations of Smith; andRosen's account is an invaluablefirst-hand document. of the beginnings of spaceflight. I have long sincerun out of superlatives for Mr. Ley,who annually produces the year'sbest book of imaginative non-fiction.SALAMANDERS AND OTHER WONDERS,

by Willy Ley (Viking, $3.95*)THE VIKING ROCKET STORY, by ~1il

ton W. Rosen (Harper. $3.75*)_/

123

THE EXPLORATION OF THE MOON,

illustrations by R. A. Smith, text byArthur C. Clarke (Harper, $2.50*)

FOR POSTGRADUATES ONLY

Far from popularized, these accounts of our neighbors in space aredefini tive reference books ratherthan light reading for the curious.To the student (and the science fiction writer), their length and comprehensiveness should justify thei rhigh cost.PHYSICS OF THE PLANET MARS, byGerard de Vaucouleurs (Macmillan,$10*)THE MOON: A COMPLETE DESCRIP

TION, by Dr. H. Percy \Vilkins andPatrick Moore (Macmillan, $·12*)

HUMOR

Fantasy continues to flourishsplendidly in cartoon form, particularly among the modern French art':ists' and the America~ college students (as edited by Boltinoff) whoseem influenced by them. Singleauthor collections offer nothingquite comparable to those by Addams and Searle in 1954; but GeorgePrice's un-jelled world is disquietingenough. Pogo and MAD need, Itrust, no recommendation to readersof F&SF; the 1955 volumes. (especially Kelly's first) are, if possible,better than ever.THE HOWLS OF IVY, edited by HenryBoltinoff (Bantam, 25c)MORE FRENCH CARTOONS, edited byWilliam Cole and Douglas McKee(Dell, 2SC)

124

THE POGO PEEK-A-BOOK and POTLUCK

POGO, by Walt Kelly (Simon &

Schuster, $1 * each)MAD STRIKES BACK! (Ballantine,35c)GEORGE PRICE'S CHARACTERS .(Simon& Schuster, $2.95*)

JUVENILES

Science fiction for teen-agers wasplentiful in 1955; but of the veryfew specimens which were both literate and accurate, most were aimedat the novice who has never beforeencountered s.f. Norton's adventureyarn was best suited to please theregular reader of s.f., young or old.Todd and Sutton produced the onlyat all satisfactory stories for youngerchildren - and delightful they bothare. For the very youngest, Bradbury collaborated with an excellentpictorial artist to shape one of thenlost· excitingly _creative of all his

FLASll!

FANTAS~ A:'.:U SCIENCE FICTION

books. 1'wo volullles of juvenilenon-fiction deserv;adult attentionfor the simple clarity of their textsand the disciplined imagination andbeauty of their pictures.SWITCH ON THE NIGHT, by Ray Bradbury, illustrations by MadeleineGekiere (Pantheon, $2.50*)STAR GUARD, by Andre Norton (Harcourt, Brace, $3*)VENUS BOY, by Lee Sutton (Lothrop,Lee-& Shepard, $2.50*)SPACE CAT VISITS VENUS, by I\uthven Todd (Scribner's, $2*)EXPLORING THE MOON, by Roy A.Gallant, illustrated by Lowell Hess(Garden City, $2*)THE GOLDEN BOOK OF ASTRONO~1Y,

by Rose Wyler and Gerald Ames,illustrated by John Polgreen (SilTIOn& Schuster, $3.95*)

* Books filarkcd with an asterisk Inay beordered from F &SF's RcaJcrs' nook Service.For details sec page I 2.~.

F&~F is proud to announce that Alfred Jlcslcr's first sciencefiction novel since THE DEMOLISHED MAN four years ago willappear serially in these pages soon. Look for -

THE BURNING SPEARA New Novel By

ALFRED BESTER

beginning ill the June issue of F&SF

In one of the hriefest of his tales, Ray Bradbury tells of a hopeless andgallantvigil on a dim moor where there is no Time . . . only Forever.

The Dragonby RAY BRADBURY

THE NIGHT BLE\V IN THE SIIORT

grass on the moor; there was noother motion. It had been yearssince a single bird had flown by inthe great blind shell of sky. Longago a few small stones had simulatedlife when they crumbled and fellinto dust. Now only the nightmoved in the souls of the two menbent by their lonely fire in thewilderness; darkness pumped quietlyin their veins and ticked silently intheir temples and their wri~ts.

Firelight fled up and down their\vild faces and welled in their eyesin orange tatters. They listened toeach other's faint, cool breathingand the lizard blink of their eyelids..L\t last, one man poked the fire.

"Don't, idiot; you'll give usaway!"

"No matter," said the secondman. "The dragon can smell usmiles off, anyway. God's breath, it'scold. I \vish I 'was back at the castle."

"It's death, not sleep, we'reafter. ..."

"Why? Why? The dragon neversets foot inside the town walls!"

"Quiet, fool! He eats men traveling alone from our to\vn to thenext !"

"Let them be eaten and let us gethome!"

"Wait now; listen!"The two men froze.They \vaited a long tilne, but

there was only the shake of theirhorses' nervous skin like black velvettambourines jingling the silver stirrup buckles, softly, softly.

"Ah." The .second man sighed."vVhat a land of nightmares. Everything happens here. Someone blowsout the sun; it's night. And then,and then, oh, God, listen! Thisdragon, they say his eyes are fire, hisbreath a white gas; you can see himburn across the dark lands. He runswith sulfur and thunder and kindlesthe grass. Sheep panic and die insane. Women deliver forth monsters.The dragon's fury is such that towerwalls shake back to dust. His victims,at sunrise, are strewn hither-thitheron the hills. How many knights, Iask, have gone for this monster andfailed, even aswearedoomed to fail?"

125

126

"Enough of that!""More than enough! Out here in

this desolation I cannot tell whatyear this is r"

"Nine hundred years since theNativity."

"No, no," \vhispered the secondman, eyes shut. "On this moor is noTime, is only Forever. I feel if I ranback on the road the town would begone, the people yet unborn, thingschanged, the castles unquarried fromthe rocks, the timbers still uncu tfrom the forests; don't ask how Iknow, the moor kno\vs a·nd tells me.And here we sit alone in the land ofthe fire dragon, God save us!"

"Be you afraid, then gird on yourarmor!"

"What use? The dragon runs fromnowhere; \ve cannot guess its home.It vanishes in fog; we know notwhere it goes. Aye, on with ourarmor; we'll die \vell-dressed."

Half into his silver corselet, thesecond man stopped again andturned his head.

Across the dim countrv, full ofnight and nothingness from theheart of the moor itself, the ,vindsprang full of dust from clocks ihatused dust for telling time. Therewere black suns burning in the heartof this new \\Tlnd and a millionburnt leaves shaken from someautumn tree beyond the' horizon.This wind melted landscapes, lengthened bones like white wax, made theblood roil and thicken to a mu~dy

deposit in the brain. The wind wasa thousand souls dying and all time

FANTASY A~D SCIENCE FICTION

confused and in transit. It "vas a foginside of a mist inside of a darkness,and this place was no man's placeand there was no year or hour at all,but only these men in a facelessemptiness of sudden frost, stormand white thunder which movedbehind the great falling pane ofgreen glass that \vas the lightning.A squall of rain drenched the turf,all faded a\\ray until there ,vas unbreathing hush and the t\\ro men\vaiting alone \vi th their \varmthin a cool season.

"There," whispered the first man.·'Oh, there . . ,."

Miles off, rushing with a greatchant and a roar- the dragon.

In silence, the men buckled ontheir armor and mounted theirhors~s. The ·midnight wilderness wassplit by a monstrous gushing as thedragon roared nearer, nearer; itsflashing yellow glare spurted abovea hill and then, fold on fold of darkbody, distantly seen, therefore indistinct, flowed over that hill andplunged vanishing in to a valley.

"Quick!"They spurred their horses for\vard

to a small hollow."This is \vhere it passes !"They seized their lances \-vi th

mailed fists, and blinded their horsesby flipping the visors do\vn overtheir eyes.

"Lord !""Yes, let us use His name."On the instant, the dragon rounded

a hill. Its monstrous amber eye fedon thein, fired their armor in red

THE DRAGO~

glints and glitters. \Vith a terriblewailing cry it flung itself forward.

"Mercy, God!"The lance struck under the un

lidded yellow eye, buckled, tossedthe man through the air. The dragonhit, spilled him over, pown, groundhim under. Passing, the black bruntof its shoulder smashed the remaining horse and rider a hundred feetagainst the side ofa boulder, wailing,wailing, the dragon shrieking, thefire all about, around, under it, apink, yellow, orange sun-fire withgreat soft plumes of blinding smoke.

"Did you see it?" cried a voice."Just like I told you!"

"The same! ~rhe saIne! 1\ knight

127

in armor! We hit him!""You goin' to stop?""Did once; found nothing. Don't

like to stop on this moor. I get thewillies..Got a feel, it has."

"But we hit something!""Gave him plenty of whistle;

chap wouldn't budge!"A steaming blast cu t the mist aside."We'll make Stokely on time.

~10re coal, eh, Fred?"Another \vhistle shook dew from

.the empty sky. The night train, infire and fury, shot through a gully,up a rise, and vanished away overcold earth, toward the north, leavingblack smoke and steam to dissolvein the numbed air minutes after ithad passed and gone forever.

Flying Chaucer

A man ther was of Oliter Spays alIso;Withouten eny hors he did i-goe,But as a swalwe soard ful mer~lie

On hi ahoven al the companyeWithyn a straunge devys of metail mayd:A hoi for fysshes coverd al his heyde.His clok as hlakke was as Iycorys;His hayr upon his schuldres fel, Iwis.As sodain as a faucon his devysI-droppen wold on erth and thenne ryseAnon so spedilie intoo the skye,A huntre cold nat folwe \vith hys eyghe.This was y-wrought by jet-propulcioun:Lo, \vich a gret thyng is invencioun!

ANTHONY BRODE

READERS' BOOK SERVICEBdor\V is a list of many of the most important science fiction books of the past year which you may no'order postpaid through F &SF. In addition, you may order any hard~cover book reviewed in this magClzine during t~e past year. (Sorry, but we cannot offer this service on paper..bound books.)

66 PHYSICS OF PLANET MARGerard de VaucouleuJ

Macmillan '10.0106 THE MOON: A COMPLETE

DESCRIPTIONH. Percy Wilkins & Patrick MoorMacmillan '12.0

41 INDEX TO THE SCIENCEFICTION MAGAZINES1926-1950 Donald B. Da~Perri $6.5

Garden City112 GOLDEN BOOK OF

ASTRONOMYRose Wvlf'r & Gerald Ameillustrat~d by John Polgreel

Simon & Schuster $3.9,

HUMOR107 THE POGO PEEK·A-BOOK108 POTLUCK POGO Wah Kell'

Simon & Schuster each $1.0109 George Price's Characters

Simon & Schuster $2.9,

UNCLASSIFIABI~E

113 AGE OF THE TAILH. Allen Smitl

Little, Brown '3.01

SHORT STORIES84 THE MARTIAN WAY &

OTHER STORIESIsaac Asimov

Doubleday n.9S99 FAR AND AWAY

Anthony BoucherBallantine $2.00

104 THE OCTOBER COUNTRYR. Bradbury

Ballantine IS.50100 ANOTHER KIND Chad Oliver

Baliantine '2.0062 OTHER PLACE J. B. Priestley

Harper '3.0074" THE DEVIL'S PRETTY

DAUGlITER & OTHER OZARKFOLK TALES Vance RandolphColumbia University '3.75 JUVENILES

87 NIGHTMARES OF EMINENT" 72 SWITCH ON THE NIGHT

~i~~~S~hustc~ertrandR'3~5~ Pantheon Ray Brad~~~110 STAR GUARD Andre Nortol

Harcourt. Brace P.Ol80 UNDERSEA QUEST

Frederik Pohl & Jack WilliamsolGnome $2.51

81 VENUS BOY Lee SUttOILothrop, Lee & Shepard '2.5l

73 SPACE CAT VISITS VENUSRuthven Todc

Scribner's $2.0III EXPLORING THE MOON

Roy A. Gallan$2.0l

NON-FICTION105 MYTH OR LEGEND?

G. E. Daniel & OthersMacmillan $2.50

82 INQUIRY INTO SCIENCEFICTION Basil DavenportLongmans, Green '2.50

101 THE FABULOUS PHONO-GRAPH Roland GelattLippincott M.95

102 THE ABOMINABLE SNOW·MAN Ralph IzzardDoubleday $4.00

88 SALAMANDERS AND, OTHER WONDERS Willy Ley

Viking $3.95103 THE VIKING ROCKET

STORY Mihan W. RosenHarper $3.75

76 THE EXPLORATION OF THE!\{OON

R. A. Smith & A. C. ClarkeHarper '2.50

57 \VHO'S WHO IN OZ Jack S"nowReilly & Lee $3.75

FANTASY NOVELS75 TWO TOWERS J. R. R. Tolkien

Ho~ghton-~1iffiin $5.00

NOVELS94 THE END OF ETERNITY

Isaac AsimovDoubleday '2.95

95 THE LONG TOMORROW. Leigh Brackett

Doubleday t2.95103 MARTIANS, GO HOME

Fredric BrownDutton t2.7S

58 EARTHLIGHT Arthur C. ClarkeBalIantine $2.7S

96 REPRIEVE FROM PARA-DISE H. Chandler ElliottGnome $3.00

90 NOT THIS AUGUSTC. M. Kornbluth

Doubleday $2.9591 THE EDGE OF RUNNING

WATER William SloaneDodd, Mead 13.00

98 THE GIRLS FROM PLANET 5Richard Wilson

Ballantine 12.0067 THE MOUSE THAT ROARED

Leonard WibberleyLittle, Brown P.SO

79 RE-BIRTH John WyndhamBalIantine $2.00

ANTHOLOGIES93 BEST SCIENCE FICTION

STORIES & NOVELS: 1955T. E. Dikty

Fell $4.5071 TERROR IN THE MODERN

VEIN Donald A. WollheimHanover t3.95.................................••.....................

I have circled below the nUlnbers listed alongside the books I wish to order.D

I would also like to order other books reviewed in F&SF during the past year which do not appear orthe above list. I am enclosing a separate sheet of paper containing the title, author, publisher and priceof each book. D (Sorry, this offer is not good on paper.bound books.)

I am enclosing a check 0 money order 0 (no cash or stalups) in the am~unt of $----and understand that the books will be sent me postpaid.

41 57 58 62 66 67 71 72 73 74 75 76 80 81 82 84 87' 88 90 9193 9j 95 96 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 iiO III 112 113

Name •__• •__. •...__••_••_••__. • • .__•. ••

Address • ••__._.;.._._.__••_•••••••_. • • _

City . • Zon,e. .State..----------..-------------." F·MAR-I

READERS' BOOK SERVICE: FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION, 471 Park Ave., N. Y. 22, N. Y

·s a new idea in mys.the fast pace of a

full-length original novel,. plus a live y selection of. truecrime stories, articles, reports and timely commentaries.

The current issue (March) features suspense, violence andtaut action in

THE SAVAGE STREETS, a full-length new novel by FLOYD

MILLER. Here is the gripping story of Johnny Radin, a guywho thought he was a coward-until an old man's death stampeded him into a search for a killer in the heart of New York's.Ideadly waterfront.

And you'll find bite and fascination in these articles and offbeattales of men's lust and hate and greed: .

The Man Who Hated Streetwallcers

by ·EDGAR LUSTGARTEN

Prowlers in the Pear Trees

by JIM THOMPSON

The Murder of Noreen

by EDWARD D. RADIN

AND OTHER ARTICLES AND STORIES

Get acquainted with MMB-M. It's reading with a difference.Use the convenient coupon 011 page 115-TODAY!

Documents

Fantasy & Science Fiction, March 1956