EDITED RY

may POURNELLE AND JIM BAEN

Fay,

THE PAPERBACK MAGAZINE OF
SCIENCE FICTION AND SPECULATIVE FACT

VOLUME II/SUMMER 1985

VOLUME Il/SPRING 1985

EDITORS IN CHIEF

Jerry Pournelle Jim Baen

MANAGING EDITOR SENIOR EDITOR
John F. Carr Elizabeth Mitchell

ART EDITOR

Terri Czeczko

FAR FRONTIERS
Summer 1985

This is in part a work of fiction. All the characters and events
portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to
real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright  1985 by Baen Enterprises

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Book

Baen Enterprises

8-10 W. 36th Street
New York, N.Y. 10018
First printing, April 1985

ISBN: 0-671-55954-0

Cover art by Michael Carroll. Interior art by Janet Aulisio,
Vincent DiFate, Arthur George, Val Lakey Lindahn, Judy
Mitchell, and J.K. Potter

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by

SIMON & SCHUSTER

MASS MERCHANDISE SALES COMPANY
1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. 10020

CONTENTS

FICTION

Novellas

TALION, John Brunner
HOUSE OF WEAPONS, Gordon R. Dickson

Short Stories

NUCLEAR AUTUMN, Ben Bova
PETROGYPSIES, Rory Harper

A CURE FOR CROUP, Edward P. Hughes
EVILEYE, Dean Ing

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE, John Park
AVENGING ANGEL, Eric L. Davin

SPECULATIVE FACT

A STEP FARTHER OUT, Jerry Pournelle

IRAS, VEGA, AND INTELLIGENT LIFE IN THE
GALAXY, Dr. Robert W. Bussard

CHEAP SHOTS, G. Harry Stine

BOOK REVIEWS

THE LEADING EDGE, Richard E. Geis

Talion, copyright  1985 by John Brunner

House of Weapons, copyright  1985 by Gordon R.
Dickson

A Cure for Croup, copyright  1985 by Edward P.
Hughes

Nuclear Autumn, copyright  1985 by Ben Bova

Petrogypsies, copyright  1985 by Rory Harper

Evileye, copyright  1985 by Dean Ing

Avenging Angel, copyright  1985 by Eric L. Davin

IRAS, Vega, and Intelligent Life in the Galaxy,
copyright  1985 by Robert W. Bussard

Cheap Shots, copyright  1985 by G. Harry Stine

The Leading Edge, copyright  1985 by Richard E.
Geis

A Step Farther Out, copyright  1985 by Jerry E.
Pournelle

Far Frontiers is published several times annually by Baen
Enterprises. Submissions may be sent to 3960 Laurel Canyon
Blvd., Suite 372, North Hollywood, CA 91604. All submissions
must be accompanied by stamped self-addressed envelope;

the Publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited
manuscripts.

A STEP
FARTHER

OuT

A FEW
GOOD BOOKS...

Jerry Pournelle

I used to do this column monthly. Friends and
colleagues asked how I found enough to write about,
and I would just smile. So much was happening in
the world; the problem was to be sufficiently
selective. After Destinies vanished, I still did a bi-
monthly column for Analog.

The columnthis columnis only quarterly now,
but its not quite so easy. I understand why. I
already do two computer columns each month (one
each for Byte and Popular Computing). My contract
with McGraw-Hill forbids me to write a computer
column for any competing magazine, even one I edit;
and since a great deal of the time I used to spend
mucking about with general science is now spent
playing with small computers, I have less non-
computer information to work from. Meanwhile, I
am Chairman of the Citizens Advisory Council on
National Space Policy, so that what time I have
left from computers tends to be devoted to space.
Willy-nilly, my horizons have been narrowed.

I intend to remedy that. Now that Footfall and
some of my other work is finished, I should have

6 Far Frontiers

time to return to the life of a scientific dilettante.
(Dilettante and bard; Poul Anderson once called
science fiction writers bards of the sciences, an
idea I liked so much that now my license plate
reads SCI BARD.)

Meanwhile, I have read a few good books lately.

Open or Shut?

One of the most influential books of the decade
is Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid.
Written by Douglas Hofstadter, a previously un-
known assistant professor (not even tenured!) of
philosophy at Indiana University, the book was
published in 1979; it instantly won a Pulitzer Prize,
was acclaimed by most of the scientific establish-
ment, and moved Hofstadter into the intellectual
limelight. It also caught the imagination of a large
part of the student population, particularly those
in computer sciences.

Anyone wishing to understand the intellectuals
of the next generation had better read that book
several times over. You may not care for itif you
are over forty years old, you probably wontand
if you've been brought up on linear thinking you'll
have problems understanding it; but its worth
your effort and then some. Hofstadter doesn't set-
tle many questions, but he has a fresh approach to
some of the most perplexing problems of human
intellectual history. What can we know? And how
can we be sure that what we know is true?

Among other issues, he addresses the central
matters of computer science: in particular the prob-
lem of Artificial Intelligence and can machines
have free will? For that matter, do we?

What Godel (a mathematician), Escher (a very
unusual artist), and Bach (a musician) have in com-
mon besides a lot of talent is a regard for, and use

A STEP FARTHER OUT 7

of, recursion. In computer science, a recursive pro-
gram is one that calls itself as a subroutine. This is
not only possible, but in computer languages like
LISP (the favorite programming language of the
artificial intelligence community) recursion is both
common and indispensable.

One of John von Neumann's chief contributions
to computer history was the notion of the stored
program: the computer program could be put
into the machines memory in exactly the same
way that data could be kept there; indeed, pro-
gram items could be manipulated like data. John
McCarthy's LISP computer language carries this
even further: a LISP program is pretty well indis-
tinguishable from the data it operates on, so that
LISP programs can not only be recursive, but can
recursively modify themselves with little difficulty.

Kurt Godels model of a rotating universe al-
lowed an even more interesting form of recursion:
in theory, a traveler could follow a path through
time and space which returned to the exact start-
ing pointin both time and space. This disturbs
some theorists, although practical application is
likely to be difficult. To take advantage of a Godel
path we would first need to find the proper path in
the real universe, and secondly construct a vehicle.
Following a Godel path involves no logical contra-
dictions, but it has not been shown to be actually
possible.

In the world of mathematics Godel is best known
for his Theorem: in any self-consistent theory of
numbers, there will be propositions which can be
neither proved nor disproved without going out-
side the theory. In other wordsthere are no closed
mathematical systems. If you want to know who

shaves the Spanish barber (who by definition shaves

8 Far Frontiers

all and only those who do not shave themselves)
you ll just have to follow him around and see.

Hofstadter tackles all this and more. His book is
not only influential, it deserves to be.

Recursion and Life

There have been numerous studies of the rather
profound implications of recursion. One of the most
interestingand readableis The Recursive Uni-
verse (Wm. Morrow & Co., 1984) by William Pound-
stone. Poundstones book is a lot easier to read
than Hofstadters; it wont be as influential, and
those who like it won't like it as much as Hof-
stadters fans adore his book; but it tackles ques-
tions no less profound.

Is the universe closed? Not merely closed in
the physical sense. If the universe is closed in the
physical sense, then eventually all the stars and
planets and other matter will stop flying apart
and come back together, and we will, presumably,
have another Big Bang to begin the whole mess all
over again. Thats important enough; but still less
important than philosophical closure.

Can we understand the universe?

Can we, from some number of first principles,
deduce everything else? Recognizing that the bur-
den of actual calculation may be too great, is it
possible, in principle, to describe mathematically
everything that can and will happen?

After all, although physics is still a bit messy,
the number of special constructs is diminishing,
while the scope of physics theory has expanded to
include the very early (10 * seconds after the Big
Bang) universe, the formation of galaxies, and other

such matters in addition to particle mechanics.
We have Grand Unified Theories (GUTs) which

A STEP FARTHER OUT 9

combine all the forces except gravity; as well as
the standard model of quantum mechanics.

The standard model will explain all known
experiments. True, it is messy. It has some 19
parameters which must be put in by hand, so to
speak. It doesnt explain why, for example, the
number 10* keeps cropping up, or why the elec-
tron masses what it does, or why the speed of light
is what it is, or why the universal constant of
gravitation is what we observe it to be, or why
gravity is so much weaker than the electro-magnetic
force. It doesn't even relate those basic quantities
to any other quantities. Still in all, the standard
model will account for an amazing lot of experi-
mental results.

Moreover, some GUTs do seem to explain funda-
mental relationships, with cosmological theory. Cal-
culations about what might have happened in
incredibly short times after the Big Bang affect
physical observations in big colliding-beam physi-
cal laboratories, and observations in those labs
have led to predictions of observations on the as-
tronomical scale. These are exciting times for
physicists.

Poundstones book attempts to look at these mat-
ters without getting bogged down in mathemati-
cal details. In particular, he asks: do we have any
everyday experiences that will lead us to believe
that the universe, in all its profound complexity,
might actually be simple in structure? Do we have
evidence that the universe might be philosophi-
cally closed?

He believes we do; and he uses the fascinating
Game of Life (by Richard Conway) as his example.
Life is a game of very simple rules; yet if we
simulate it on a small computer, we can generate
highly complex, and entirely unexpected, results;

10 Far Frontiers

the game is recursive, and recursion produces al-
most unimaginable complexities.

By analogy, cannot the universe be the same?

After all: if you begin to calculate the value of
pi, you will never stop. The number is infinite and
non-repeating. It appears to be indistinguishable
from a random number, except, of course, that it
is not random. It is a unique number, and if you
follow the proper procedures you will get one se-
quence and no otheryet you can transmit that
infinitely long number in the single statement, the
ratio of the circumference of a circle to the dia-
meter. Isn't this a violation of some kind of con-
servation law? If we can consider physics to be a
form of information theoryand Poundstone does
then how can all that information be contained in
so small a statement?

Poundstone is an MIT graduate. Claude Shannon,
who first developed information theory, and John
von Neumann are both closely associated with MIT.
It isn't surprising that Poundstone has been greatly
influenced by them.

Among his other contributions von Neumann in-
vestigated self-reproducing patterns. Can machines,
in theory at least, make themselves; or does this
involve a logical contradiction? Von Neumann ex-
amined this through computer programs; rather
than building actual machines, he simulated ma-
chines through patterns of cells which can assume
different states. Each state corresponds, more or
less, to a component of a machine. The state of
each cell depends on the initial condition of the
cell, and the states of its four orthogonal neighbors.

In a logical model universe in which each cell
can assume 29 different states, you can set up a
starting pattern that, after much time and com-
plex growth, reproduces itself. It is not small and

A STEP FARTHER OUT i1

hardly simple; but it is possible. There is no logi-
cal contradiction in the concept of a machine that
reproduces itself.

New Health

So far so good. Poundstone doesn't consider all
the implications of self-replication; lets look at a
couple.

Imagine that we build a self-replicating machine
and send it into space. Things might be more com-
plex than that; for example, we might send forth a
robot which builds a factory; the factory in turn
builds more robots. (One might think of human
beings as factory stages for the manufacture of
spermatozoa and ovae.) We, in turn, harvest either
robots or factories, depending on what we need.

If our self-replicating machine went to the Moon,
or an asteroid, or Mars, then after a few genera-
tions we would have a nearly infinite return on
our investment. The wealth created by the robots
would be new wealth, generated by a capital
investment, but hardly fitting the Marxist view of
surplus value derived from exploitation of labor.
How such wealth should be distributedwho
should have itneed not be explored here.

Self-replicating machines are logically possible.
Can they actually be made?

A few years ago NASA held a symposium on that
subject. Experts in robotics and manufacturing
worked for a long and stimulating weekend. Alas,
although there were intriguing ideas, there were
no practical approaches.

None save one. I was a participant in that
symposium, and it was obvious to me that we
could build one space-located self replicating facil-
ity within this decade: we could send a colony of
humans to the Moon. A human colony would have

12 Far Frontiers

a self replication time of about 20 years. It would
require heavy investment at first, but it ought to
be self sufficient within a generation; after which
all the wealth it created would be new, wealth
created from previously untappable sources.

Of course the colonists would be humans, not
robots; and would therefore have their own theo-
ries as to the ownership of that wealth, just as the
colonists of the New World had views different
from those of the kings of Spain and England. On
the other hand, they would be able to generate so
much wealthwell over 90% of the resources, such
as metals, easily available to mankind are not here
on Earththat they can spare some. Perhaps one
day we will see the outer space equivalent of the
Marshall Plan under which the United States helped

rebuild Europe. The Moon sends foreign aid to
New York City. ...

Are We Alone?

If it is theoretically possible to build self-replicat-
ing machines; and it is in practice possible to
build self-replicating space colonies; then these
achievements are possible not only for humans,
but for any other intelligent species in the galaxy.

If its that easy to do, someone will have done it.
No one has; for if they had, they'd be here. There-
fore, we're alone. Frank Tipler of Tulane seriously
proposes this answer to Enrico Fermis profound
question: Where are they? They don't exist, says
Tipler; for if they did, we'd already know.

Neither Tipler nor Godel are discussed in Pound-
stones book. Its still a good one.

Down With Darwin
Tipler thinks we're alone in the universe. On the
other hand, Sir Fred Hoyle believes the probabil-

A STEP FARTHER OUT 13

ity of evolution of life is so low that it wouldn't
happen in the galaxy in hundreds of billions of
years. The galaxy isn't hundreds of billions of year
old, yet we're here. How could that happen?

In Evolution From Space (Simon and Schuster,
1982) Sir Fred Hoyle and Chandra Wickramasinghe
argue that weindeed all lifehave been planted
here by purposefully sent payloads of spores from
outer space. The spores contain genetic programs
and are capable of modifying existing organisms
not just bacteria, but people. (Theres a section on
noses and their effect on inhalation of spore-laden
raindrops.)

They examine such evidence as the startling fact
that sweet peas and certain varieties of beans can
produce hemoglobin, despite any evolutionary ben-
efit the peas and beans can gain from this; and
end with the more startling conclusion that God
exists. Now true enough, their God has little to do
with the oriental monarch portrayed in the Old
Testament and, far from creating the universe, ap-
pears to be the Universe Itself; but since the proba-
bility that life evolved by chance is insignificantly
small, something more than chance is needed in
explanation.

Adrian Berry (author of the excellent books The
Tron Sun and The Super-intelligent Computer) is not
shy of saying that Sir Fred has gone stark staring
mad; and he is not entirely alone in this view.
Hoyles thesis is certainly revolutionary.

However, Hoyle is not entirely alone in his
views. John Gribbin in Spacewarps (Delacorte,
1983) takes Hoyle quite seriously, although he
doesn't agree. Moreover, Hoyle isnt the first to
present this thesis. In his book Hoyle examines the
panspermia theory of Arrhenius (Nobel prize win-
ner for the theory of ions and ionization), who first

14 Far Frontiers

concluded that life originated in one part of the
galaxy and was carried in spore form by light
pressure from star to star.

Hoyle also asks embarrassing questions about
Darwin's theory. They are not questions likely to
comfort Biblical literalists; but a universe that has
room for a universal Creator is an entirely differ-
ent place from one made of accidental encounters
between quarks.

If life has been created and dispersed through
the universe by a Creatorcould not that Creator
be an agent of an even greater Creator? The tradi-
tional Catholic view of the Universe is that it was
made by Christ. (And without Him nothing was
made that was made, says the beginning of the
Gospel of John.) I do not argue the point, but it is
intriguing to think what C. S. Lewis might have
made of it.

Watchmakers

If we take all the parts of a watch and put them
in a bag, how long must we shake the bag before
the parts fall randomly together to become a watch?
If we put fifty million monkeys at typewriters,
how long must they type before they produce
Hamlet? Indeed, given any random process, how
long will it take for Hamlet to emerge by chance?
However you calculate it, the number will be very
large compared to the age of the universe.

Hamlet could not have arisen by chance. All very
well, and indeed we know it did not: Hamlet was
written by William Shakespeare. Of course we are
no better off with that explanation. A random
Shakespeare is even less likely than a random
Hamlet! If finding a watch implies the existence of
a watchmaker, what does finding a watchmaker
imply?

A STEP FARTHER OUT 15

To attack this question, Poundstone studies re-
cursive games such as Life. If something as com-
plex as Life can be generated from simple axioms,
while at the same time there is no logical contra-
diction in self-replicating systems, then perhaps
the universe can be philosophically closed. Watches
may imply watchmakers, but watchmakers imply
nothing more than biophysical laws; complex laws,
surely, but nothing in principle beyond the under-
standing of humansor at least of humans plus
computers.

After all, we can enhance our intelligence by
computers, and we know they are our creatures.
We could even teach them to sing hymns and re-
quire them to teach the hymns to their descendants.
It is Man who hath made us, and not we our-
selves...

Poundstones book includes source code for com-

puter programs that will play the game of Life. Its
a good read.

Einstein vs. Bohr

There are other views of philosophical closure.

In Quantum Theory and the Schism in Physics
(Rowman and Littlefield, 1982)a very readable
book, despite the formidable titleSir Karl Pop-
per tells us that in 1932 John von Neumann gave
a mathematical proof purporting to establish once
and for all the final, the end-of-the-road character
of quantum mechanics: he proved that all those
were mistaken, who, like Einstein, thought there
may be a layer of physical reality deeper than the
one represented by quantum mechanics.

In order to make the proof quite general, von
Neumann introduced a concept that became very
famous: the concept of hidden variables. A hid-
den variable was anything to be taken into ac-

16 Far Frontiers

count in atomic theory (in the sense in which atomic
theory included the nucleus as a matter of course)
that was not taken into account by quantum
mechanics. Von Neumann proved (or so we were
told) that such hidden variables could not exist in
quantum mechanics; or, according to a slightly
different interpretation, he proved that the exis-
tence of hidden variables contradicted quantum
mechanics.

Now it so happened that in the same year in
which von Neumann's book was published, two
new particles were discovered: the neutron and
the positron.

Were these not (previously) hidden variables?
And if not, what would have been?

Popper, in his Logic of Scientific Discovery,
arguessome would say demonstrates conclusive-
lythat the essence of science is falsifiability. A
statement which cannot be falsified cannot be
scientific; under the rules of scientific truth and
discovery, it cannot be trueor indeed, have any
meaning at all.

Popper also argues that science is open; that
something can come from nothing; that the future
is not contained in the past. There is genuine inde-
terminism in physics, biology, and history. Mind
is not mere matter, and thoughts are not pre-
determined; hence his dedication to the open
society in an open universe.

In Quantum Theory and the Schism in Physics,
which is the third volume of his Postscript to the
Logic of Scientific Discovery, Popper reviews the
nearly forgotten Einstein/Bohr controversy; and con-
cludes that it was not really settled at all. The
question was, had physics reached the end of the
road with quantum mechanics? Was quantum me-

A STEP FARTHER OUT 17

chanics complete, and at least in principle the
end of the road in physics?

Heisenberg and Bohr claimed that it was; Ein-
stein rejected the view, at first because he could
not accept a probabilistic theory as final. Accord-
ing to Popper Einstein later gave up that reason-
ing in 1950; but he always believed that there
must be a further, deeper level. Physical theory
was not complete.

The argument was never settled. Popper says it
is nearly forgotten today. Few ever dared criticize
Bohr (although Murray Gell-Mann, who first named
the quarks, has said that Bohr brainwashed a
whole generation of theorists). Instead of a final

confrontation between Bohrs completist phys-
ics and Einstein's open universe, there was a
subtle transformation of what quantum theory was
all about. The term quantum mechanics was
applied to quantum electrodynamics, field theory,
and even the study of quarkswhich were cer-
tainly entirely unsuspected in the year of von
Neumann's proof.

For Popper and his intellectual descendants the
universe is philosophically open. We can never
understand everything, nor is any theory ever
complete. It is a conclusion that Godel would have
accepted.

Where Is the Antimatter?

A final observational problem: there appears to
be too much matter and too little anti-matter in
this universe of ours. Of course too little is a
subjective thing; if there were plenty of antimatter
we wouldn't exist, since matter and antimatter
mutually annihilate each other when they get
together; but there's too little for the theorists.

18 Far Frontiers

Why should nature prefer matter to antimatter?
Yet it seems that this universe does.

The cosmologists think they see an answer to
that. Wnen the universe formed from the Big Bang
more happened than is at first obvious. The uni-
verse underwent a phase change, analogous to
the change of state when liquids freeze. Frozen
liquids are not, in general, one single great crystal.
The change of state began in several places at
once, and those places were out of phase with each
other, so that when the crystallizations met the
crystal structure didn't match.

This was much discussed at the 1984 New York
meeting of the American Association for the Ad-
vancement of Science. Most there concluded that
the phase change universe could be real. If so,
we live in one of a series of universes, each exist-
ing in its own spacetime, each independent of the

other, isolated from the other by the very struc-

ture of reality (as we understand it at present).
There is no way one of these universal bubbles

could influence another. They are completely cut

off...

Comes The Revolution

Gribbin (Spacewarps) quotes Edinburgh astrono-
mer Victor Clube as saying that we stand on the
brink of revolutionary new theories in astronomy.
The physicists meanwhile look forward to new ob-
servations that will confirm or deny the Grand
Unified Theory that eluded Einstein. Certainly there
was a genuine sense of excitement in the physics
panels at the 1984 AAAS meeting in New York.
Something is about to happen.

Cosmology is at last contributing to astronomi-
cal theory and making predictions that can be
confirmed in high-energy laboratories. We have

A STEP FARTHER OUT 19

inflationary  theories of the Big Bang. These pro-
duce phase changes, and a possible infinity of
universes. We have GUTs and standard theories.
Meanwhile the tools of science are also taking a
quantum leap forward.

We not only have larger and better computers;
we have more computers, enough so that nearly
every physicist and graduate student has access to
more computing power than was available to
anyone twenty years ago. We have space observa-
tion systems, such as the Infra-Red Astronomical
Satellite (IRAS), with others, like the Large Space
Telescope, due within a few years.

Mankind stands at a peculiar threshold. Within

our lifetimes, indeed within a few years, we will
have the ability to make it trivially easy to make
our presence unambiguously known across much
of the galaxy. If we can do that, so could any other
civilization that reaches our level; yet our level of
science seems inevitable to any intelligent society.

If we have learned so much in a hundred years,
what more must we learn in the next thousand?
Yet it seems inevitable that if there are other civili-
zations at all, some must be not thousands, but
millions of years older than we. Fermi asked,
Where are they? and the question seems more
and more profound as we examine it.

The next step in physics promises to integrate
particle theory, astrophysics, astronomy, and cos-
mology; perhaps it will answer Fermis question
as well.

An End To Malaise
Mass poverty, malnutrition and deterioration
of the planets water and atmosphere resources
thats the bleak government prediction that says

20 Far Frontiers

civilization has perhaps 20 years to head off such a
world-wide disaster.

Thus began a typical story reporting Global 2000,
a study commissioned by President Jimmy Carter.
More than one million copies of the Global 2000
Report To The President were distributed. Before
the report was completed, President Carter used
its conclusions as the basis for discussions with
other world leaders. The disaster was rushing upon
us; something had to be done.

There were even news stories with headlines like
We have to get poor quick.

We don't hear so much about Global 2000 any
more; but its still out there, still used by govern-
ment agencies as a basis for predictions. The AAAS
meeting in 1984 featured a panel called Knock
down drag out on the global future. The idea was
to have optimists face pessimists; the pessimists in
general accept the conclusions of Global 2000.

The Resourceful Earth (Basil Blackwell, 1984) was
edited by Julian Simon and Herman Kahn just
before Kahns untimely death. The book is a collec-
tion of essays whose central thesis is simple: Global
2000 is dead wrong. Where Global 2000 sees dead-
end problems, The Resourceful Earth sees challenges
and opportunities. Julian Simon is an economist;
and though economics is known as the dismal
science, there is nothing gloomy about his views
of our potential future.

As an example: when England was denuded of
forests, many predicted doom and poverty. Instead,
England turned to coal, and entered a period of
prosperity unequalled in human history. We stand
at such a crossroads again. We have the resources,
we have the science, we have the technology; do
we have the will to solve global problems? Or
must we despair and die?

A STEP FARTHER OUT 21

From population to pollution, crops, water,
energy, and minerals, The Resourceful Earth pre-
sents an alternative to doomsday. The era of limits
and the time of national malaise are over. The
only limit to mans vast future is nerve.

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EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

NUCLEAR AUTUMN

by
Ben Bova

On March 23, 1983 President Ronald Reagan
proposed that the United States employ our tech-
nological resources to develop defenses against
ICBMs. Let us, he said, use our technology to
make these terrible weapons obsolete and irrelevant.

The press reaction was nearly unanimous. When
a number of Democratic congresscreatures called
the President Darth Vader, and derided strate-
gic defenses as Star Wars, the newspapers and
television networks hastened to trumpet those epi-
thets to the world.

The public had different views. When pollsters
asked about Star Wars, nearly 80% of the Ameri-
can people said Damn right, and about time, too.

Meanwhile, Carl Sagan and others brought forth
something else to think about. If Lucifers Ham-
mer (well, it was probably an asteroid, but it might
have been a large comet that hit the Earth a few
million years ago) killed the dinosaurs by throw-
ing up so much dust and dirt into the atmosphere
that plants died and the big lizards starved, might
not a large nuclear war bring about the same result?
That is: set enough fires, and pulverize enough
dust, to bring about atmospheric conditions that
would bring about, not merely a new ice age, but
something even worse? The possibility has become
known as the Nuclear Winter.

These and many other issues of importance are

discussed at length in Ben Bovas book, Assured
Survival 1984, Houghton-Mifflin. In that book Ben

23

24 Far Frontiers

gives me credit for inventing the phrase assured
survival. Alas, his publisher was already advertis-
ing that title when we announced my own book on
the subject: Jerry Pournelle and Dean Ing, editors:
Mutual Assured Survival, Baen Books, 1984.

Both books are worth reading. Although differ-
ing in detail, both reach much the same conclusion:
Its better that nuclear weapons dont explode at
all, but if theyre going to, space is the best place
for that to happen. If nukes are intercepted in
space, they won't set fires or pulverize dirt, and
thus won't bring about the nuclear winter.

One of the advocates of strategic defense is Lt.
General Daniel O. Graham, U.S. Army (Ret.); be-
cause he is identified with defense against the ICBM
most people assume he was in the Air Force. He
wasn't. Dan Graham was, in his words, a gravel
agitator, which is to say an infantryman. He is,
as I write this, neither grizzled, nor old, nor yet
chief of staff; but all things change.

They re bluffing, said the President of the United
States.

Of course theyre bluffing, agreed her science
advisor. They have to be.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, a
grizzled old infantry general, looked grimly skepti-
cal.

For a long, silent moment they faced each other
in the cool, quiet confines of the Oval Office. The
science advisor looked young and handsome enough
to be a television personality, and indeed had been
one for a while before he allied himself with the
politician who sat behind the desk. The President
looked younger than she actually was, thanks to
modern cosmetics and a ruthless self discipline.
Only the general seemed to be old, a man of an
earlier generation, gray-haired and wrinkled, with
light brown eyes that seemed sad and weary.

IT don't believe they're bluffing, he said. I
think they mean exactly what they sayeither we
cave in to them or they launch their missiles.

The science advisor gave him his most patroniz-
ing smile. General, they have to be bluffing. The
numbers prove it.

The only numbers that count, said the general,
are that we have cut our strategic ballistic mis-
sile force by half since this Administration came
into office.

And made the world that much safer, said the
President. Her voice was firm, with a sharp edge
to it.

The general shook his head. Maam, the only
reason I have not tendered my resignation is that I
know full well the nincompoop you intend to ap-
point in my place.

The science advisor laughed. Even the President
smiled at the old man.

26

NUCLEAR AUTUMN 27

The soviets are not bluffing, the general re-
peated. They mean exactly what they say.

With a patient sigh, the science advisor explained,
General, they cannotrepeat, can notlaunch a
nuclear strike at us or anyone else. They know the
numbers as well as we do. A large nuclear strike,
in the 3000 megaton range, will so damage the
environment that the world will be plunged into a
Nuclear Winter. Crops and animal life will be wiped
out by months of subfreezing temperatures. The
sky will be dark with soot and grains of pulverized
soil. The sun will be blotted out. All life on Earth
will die.

The general waved an impatient hand. I know
your story. Ive seen your presentations.

Then how can the Russians attack us, when
they know theyll be killing themselves even if we
don't retaliate?

Maybe they haven't seen your television specials.
Maybe they don't believe in Nuclear Winter.

But they have to! said the science advisor.
The numbers are the same for them as they are
for us.

Numbers, grumbled the general.

Those numbers describe reality, the science
advisor insisted. And the men in the Kremlin are
realists. They understand what Nuclear Winter
means. Their own scientists have told them ex-
actly what I've told you.

Then why did they insist on this Hot Line call?

Spreading his hands in the gesture millions had
come to know from his television series, the sci-
ence advisor replied, They're reasonable men. Now
that they know nuclear weapons are unusable, they
are undoubtedly trying to begin negotiations to
resolve our differences without threatening nuclear
war.

28 Far Frontiers

You think so? muttered the general.

The President leaned back in her swivel chair.
We'll find out what they want soon enough, she
said. Kolgoroff will be on the Hot Line in another
minute or so.

The science advisor smiled at her. I imagine
he'll suggest a summit meeting to negotiate a new
disarmament treaty.

The general said nothing.

The President touched a green square on the
keypad built into the desks surface. A door opened
and three more peoplea man and two women
entered the Oval Office: the Secretary of State, the
Secretary of Defense, and the National Security
Advisor.

Exactly when the digital clock on the President's
desk read 12:00:00, the large display screen that
took up much of the wall opposite her desk lit up
to reveal the face of Yuri Kolgoroff, General Secre-
tary of the Communist Party and President of the
Soviet Union. He was much younger than his pre-
decessors had been, barely in his mid-fifties, and
rather handsome in a Slavic way. If his hair had
been a few shades darker and his chin just a little
rounder he would have looked strikingly like the
President's science advisor.

Madam President, said Kolgoroff, in flawless
American-accented English, it is good of you to
accept my invitation to discuss the differences be-
tween our two nations.

T am always eager to resolve differences, said
the President.

T believe we can accomplish much. Kolgoroff
smiled, revealing large white teeth.

T have before me, said the President, glancing
at the computer screen on her desk, the agenda
that our ministers worked out... .

NUCLEAR AUTUMN 29

There is no need for that, said the Soviet leader.
Why encumber ourselves with such formalities?

The President smiled. Very well. What do you
have in mind?

It is very simple. We want the United States to
withdraw all its troops from Europe and to dis-
mantle NATO. Also, your military and naval bases
in Japan, Taiwan and the Philippines must be
disbanded. Finally, your injunctions against the
Soviet Union concerning trade in high-technology
items must be ended.

The Presidents face went white. It took her a
moment to gather the wits to say, And what do
you propose to offer in exchange for these ...
concessions?

In exchange? Kolgoroff laughed. Why, we will
allow you to live. We will refrain from bombing
your cities.

You're insane! snapped the President.

Still grinning, Kolgoroff replied, We will see
who is sane and who is mad. One minute before
this conversation began, I ordered a limited nu-
clear attack against every NATO base in Europe,
and a counterforce attack against the ballistic mis-
siles still remaining in your silos in the American
midwest.

The red panic light on the President's communi-
cations console began flashing frantically.

But thats impossible! burst the science advisor.
He leaped from his chair and pointed at Kolgoroffs
image in the big display screen. An attack of that
size will bring on Nuclear Winter! You'll be killing
yourselves as well as us!

Kolgoroff smiled pityingly at the scientist. We
have computers also, professor. We know how to
count. The attack we have launched is just below
the threshold for Nuclear Winter. It will not blot

30 Far Frontiers

out the sun everywhere on Earth. Believe me, we
are not such fools as you think.
But...

But, the Soviet leader went on, smile van-
ished and voice iron hard, should you be foolish
enough to launch a counterstrike with your re-
maining missiles or bombers, that will break the
camels back, so to speak. The additional explo-
sions of your counterstrike will bring on Nuclear
Winter.

You can't be serious!

T am deadly serious, Kolgoroff replied. Then a
faint hint of his smile returned. But do not be
afraid. We have not targeted Washington. Or any
of your cities, for that matter. You will liveunder
Soviet governance.

The President turned to the science advisor.
What should I do?

The science advisor shook his head.

What should I do? she asked the others seated
around her.

They said nothing. Not a word.

She turned to the general. What should I do?

He got to his feet and headed for the door. Over
his shoulder he answered, Learn Russian.

EDITORS INTRODUCTION TO:

TALION
by

John Brunner

I first met John Brunner in 1964, at the World
Science Fiction Convention held in the Leamington
Hotel in Oakland. It was the largest Worldcon
ever: over 400 people, as I recall. I was at the time
a county chairman of the Republican Party, and
my wife was chairman of the county Citizens for
Goldwater campaign. Mr. Brunner was a dedicated
adherent to the socialist wing of the British Labour
Party. By September of 64 it was pretty obvious
that Senator Goldwater wasn't going to win. I
forget how the Labour Party was doing.

(They told me in 1964 that if I voted for Gold-
water, my money wouldn't be worth anything, there
would be riots in all the major cities, and wed
have half a million men overseas in a land war in
Asia. Alas, I voted for him, and it all came true.)

Brunner and I met at a party held by the late
Tony Boucher. It should be obvious that we didn't
get onexcept that we did. John Brunner has al-
ways been polite and willing to let his opponents
have their say. We did argue a bit, with an odd
result: one of Tony Bouchers (thoroughly inebri-
ated) young guests, totally devoted to the cause of
the pacifist left, decided that I might in fact have
won some points in my arguments with Brunner
(and Boucher, who sided with John). It was there-
fore clear that I was far too eloquent; and since I
was clearly dedicated to a totally evil cause, it
being common knowledge that Barry Goldwater
was a fascist warmonger, it was the young mans

31

32 Far Frontiers

civic duty to kill me. Mr. Brunner was one of those
who helped restrain him.

I have met John Brunner many times since. We
do not argue much any more; perhaps we each
despair of persuading the other. Moreover, I do
not live in Britain, and it is not my task to teach
others how to run their countries.

However, Britain is a NATO ally, and Brunner
doesn't much care for the implications of that. His
position is simple. Britain should get rid of the
nukesand also adopt a Swiss defense system, in
which every citizen of Britain has a rifle and is
trained to use it.

TI would rather see Britain an indigestible lump
in the communist empire than a cloud of nuclear
vapour, John once told me. Its not an unreason-
able position. I think of arguments against it, but I
dont know what I'd think about that if I lived
over there. It doesnt matter. I live here. I believe
that a U.S. strategic defense program can give
John Brunnerand all the Britsmore alterna-
tives than guerilla war vs. nuclear doom.

John Brunner believes that governments not only
can, but must do good things for their citizens.

It is a commonplace that our civil defense is, and
must always be, hopelessly inadequate to cope with
the slaughter and destruction which would be brought
about by thermonuclear bombardment ... It seems
a reasonable guess that for every megacorpse  caused
by blast, fire and radiation, there would in a few
weeks be another megacorpse caused by the epidem-
ics and starvation resulting from the breakdown of
transport and industrial production. No drugs, no
drains, no food. Fortitude or the will to resist
under thermonuclear bombardment would be as much
use as swordsmanship against a heat wave.

Wayland Young (Lord Kennet):
Strategy for Survival, 1959

There was going to be another spring after all,
and even summer might yet return to Britains
grey and ravaged land. Muffled in cumbrous syn-
thetic furs, despite their thickness having to strive
not to shiver as the Optica survey plane droned on
its way, Reginald Curtis clung to that belief with
might and main, and stared at the veiled disc of
the pallid May sun as achingly as any pagan
worshipper. Almost a year had passed since it had
been visible at all.

Shifting in the left seat, nominally the co-pilots
but pilots were too scarce for two to fly together,
just as they had been in the days of Lancasters and
Stirlings, a fact Curtis remembered vaguely from
his childhoodTanner muttered, He must have
been seeing things!

Who? countered Smith from the middle of the
cabin.

Ellis! The man who made the report!

34

TALION 35

Oh, him! Smith's tone reflected proper mili-
tary contempt for Ellis, whose most demanding
pre-war task had consisted in ferrying holiday-
makers to and from Majorca. He himself was a
career RAF officer, promoted Air Marshal for lack
of anyone better, although he still wore his old
flying-suit with the stripes of his substantive rank,
wing commander. Yes, either that or he was off
course. My guess is, he was miles adrift from where
he claimed. Everyone knows this area was contami-
nated past hope by the ground-burst atat He
tried to snap his fingers, but his heavy gloves per-
mitted only a dull patting noise. Oh, that nuclear
plant with the impossible name!

Not everyone, Tanner said with snidely daring
over-loudness, tilting his head ever so slightly
rightward. The plane seated three abreast, and
normally there was plenty of room for all, but his
bulky garments and the need to avoid nudging
against the pilot meant that the Minister felt as
tightly packed as well-stowed cargo, a condition
that would normally have made him temptingly
irascible.

This time, though, he did not rise to the bait. He
had given up listening with more than half an ear.
He sat with maps on his knee and a stub of pencil
poised above them, not because he imagined him-
self a better navigator than Smith, nor even be-
cause he expected to spot anything previously
unrecorded, but simply to occupy his mind.

Only the stratagem had failed, and it was long
since he had moved the hand whose limp fingers
clutched the pencil, the arm which lay slack on
the map-board to prevent it sliding when they
turned at the prescribed corners of the aircraft's
search-pattern. His heavy-jowled face, too, was as
still, and blank, and desolate as the land beneath.

36 Far Frontiers

Whichever way he gazed through the planes huge
windows, what he saw blurred over in moments
and forced him to blink away tears.

My country! Oh, my raped and ruined country!

He wished he did not have to look, because such
a sight implied the ultimate indecency. He felt he
was uncovering the nakedness of his mother, once
beautiful, wasted into a parody of herself. And
worse than nakednessoh, God!for the very flesh
was failing now, to expose the lewd bones. Almost
he would have preferred the snow to fall again,
freezing mists to roll in from the ocean as they had
throughout what by the calendar should have been
last summer. In a way, what was happening now
was like watching a corpse arise from its grave, its
shroud foul with rot and spilling worms. The re-
turn of the sun was bringing on a thaw, because so
much of the dirt hurled skyward by the ground-
burst bombs, and of the smoke from all the cities,
forests and oilwells set on fire, had been washed
back out of the sky as the air chilled and countless
drops of water were precipitated around myriads
of ionizing particles. Until last year he had never
seen black snow, nor dreamed it might be possible.
Then it had drifted down during July, and August,
and September...

The surviving scientists at Corsham looked on
the bright side. They said that if so much detritus
had not been trapped and carried down to earth,
but gone on floating round and round the world,
or if the snow-layer had been virgin white, another
Ice Age might have ensued. As it was, just enough
dust had fallen back to let the sun show through,
and correspondingly the ground-cover had grown
dark enough to absorb its feeble radiation: hence
this thaw.

But what horrors the snow was melting to reveal!

TALION 37

Some people appeared immune to their impact:
Smith, for example. He seemed to be concentrat-
ing exclusively on his controls and charts. Tanner
was more affected; he was talking over-often, some-
times shrilly, and this was so different from his
usual meek behavior Curtis suspected it must be a
defense mechanism ... Defense? Ah, how useful
jargon washad been!

For himself, this was as bad an experience as
emerging from shelter after the war, perhaps worse.
Even the stinging air of that smoke-saturated spring
had not called tears so readily to his eyes. Then,
trees still stood and bore their leaves, and recov-
ery could be envisioned. Of course, one knew that
land which man had tended for centuries must
sink back into the wild, but one spoke with confi-
dence about the decay-rate of the fallout, and made
plans.

And then the summer froze.

Abruptly the radiation-counter gave two measured
clicks; it was set to its slowest rate, for obvious
reasons. In Curtis's mind it was like the double
slam of an auctioneers hammer: going, going

Minister!

The saw-edged voice of the pilot rasped Curtiss
ears. He was obsessively studying the landscape in
the dim gray light, seeing no sign of movement
save what was brought about by the harsh wind,
and the shift of great masses of discolored snow as
the streams threading their way across this coun-
tryside of ridge and notch undercut them on their
way to the poisoned sea. Because they were flying
low, to conserve the fuel they would expend on
attaining greater altitude, he had been able to
note accidental dams of half-burned tree-trunks,
hurled from higher on the hillsides, whose charred

38 Far Frontiers

substance turned the water to the hue of ink. Around
here, he remembered, there had been mines of
some sort. Slurry from them must have done much
the same to just these rivers ...

He roused himself, painful with cramp, and ut-
tered a gruff response.

How much longer do we have to drag out this
fools errand? Smith demanded. We haven't seen
a sign of what Ellis said he spotted, and we have
barely an hours juice left before we'll absolutely
have to make for base!

Whats more, Tanner chimed in with nervous
defiance, during the pass closest to the old nu-
clear plant, we picked up a lot of hot dust!

The Minister too would rather have headed for
home than gone on quartering the ruined country-
side like a bird of preybut so far this year no
hawks had been recorded, and few of their cousins,
save gulls driven inland by storms. The time for
doing as one liked, though, was long past, and it
was futile to hark back to it.

Hunching forward, but not turning his head, he
said, What are you after, Tannera transfer to
manual reclamation duties? And thought as he
spoke of the harsh reality defined by those ab-
stract polysyllables: slow-moving figures clad in
rags amid the rubble and crusted ice of empty
cities, condemned by military courts for looting
and suchlike offences, but buying a few more
months of life by doing the same with official
approval, venturing into hot areas in search of
reusable scrap ... That was just one of the ways
his government had had to copy the enemy; they
had long had punishment battalions, and in war-
time used them for clearing minefields. Sometimes,
as in that former case, the guards who had to
drive them on at gunpoint rebelled. There had

TALION 39

been six executions so far this yearsix more
wasted, out of how few ... ?

A haunted look came and went in Tanners eyes,
and he stared ahead again, trying perhaps to imi-
tate Smiths customary dumband sometimes not
so dumbinsolence. But trained pilots, being so
rare, could get away with almost anything, while
Tanner had only the outdated office skills of a civil
servant.

Curtis did not need to feign the anger that col-
ored his voice as he continued.

Get this through your head, will you? Until
Elliss report is proved false beyond a doubt, we
follow it up! He described a small town, an inhab-
ited town, surrounded by newly-dug ground! He
saw smoke rising not from wildfire but from
chimneys! He saw people dodging for coverthats
what he said! And that was at the very beginning
of the thaw, two weeks ago! We're looking for
survivors who may need help! If that doesn't touch
you, try thinking about it the other way aroundwe
may need something they've got! He made sar-
casm crackle in his voice like an electrical discharge,
as though he were addressing some bothersome
heckler at a political meeting in the old days. Now
shut up and just keep flying!

As you say, Minister. This from Smith, whose
tone had the mock formality of a warrant officer
perfectly aware he was better informed than the
junior lieutenant ordering him about. Only trou-
ble is, just flying is going to take us over the
ocean in ten or fifteen minutes. What heading do
you wish us to try next?

The bastard, the bastard! Jumped up ex-sergeant
pilot, promoted because he survived when others didn't
... All my life Ive been plagued by snotty yobs like
him, even when I was Head of School because by

40 Far Frontiers

then they'd let the rabble in! Youd think they'd be

glad of someone trained to keep his head and take
them in charge!

But at the same moment Curtis felt a cold iron
hand closing around his guts. He withstood the
pain long enough to formulate an adequately blis-
tering answer.

Tf you're incapable of setting course to cover
the last part of the search area, I'll have to find out
what you're doing in charge of our best remaining
survey plane, let alone calling yourself an Air
Marshal! Is that clear?

Then the iron hand clamped tight, and he had to
double up and grope for the supply of tablets bur-
ied deep inside his layer upon layer of clothing. He
crunched a foul-tasting pill and endured the three
or four minutes it took to master the agony trans-
fixing him. As usual, the pain was not only in his
belly but in the roots of his remaining teeth, in his
eyes and behind his forehead.

The ulcer would never heal, of course. He had
been told so. He was too old, and even though he
had spent the war in the deep shelter at Corsham
he had been exposed once too often.

When he came back from his blank abyss of
pain, there was a change in the atmosphere of the
cabin. Both Smith and Tanner were leaning for-
ward, staring through the front window, and the
first thing he heard clearly when the rushing in
his ears faded was Tanners voice shaping words
he hardly dared believe.

That looks awfully like what Ellis said he saw!

God, Let it be, let it be! Let there be proof that
people can survive and have survived outside the
shelters!

With vast effort Curtis craned forward to peer

TALION 41

past Smith, to the left and downward. Here the
ground was rolling in character, rounded hills and
shallow vales succeeding one another like petrified
waves. Snow still lay on the uplands, but it was
melting fast, andand someone had set up a water-
mill in one of the streams!

The sight of it made him so giddy he almost
blacked out. The pills sometimes had that effect.
He barely heard Smith say, Well, somethings
going on here, at any rate. Look, that fields been
ploughed this year, or Im a Dutchman.

Forcing his eyes wide, Curtis stared desperately
at the gray landand discovered Smith was right.
There was a level patch of soil, scratched into
untidy furrows, with a sprinkling of bright green
on it, random as pepper-grains.

Thank God! he whispered. But who did it?
Find them! We need to know who they are!

What do you think Im doing? was Smiths
curt reply as he swung the plane over the next
ridge at the lowest speed it could sustain without
a stall.

Then they saw it clear: a little town, built of
slate and drab gray stone, along the sides of a
slanting valley. It was deep enough between the
hills to have credibly survived any nearby blast,
and some accident of weather might well have
ensured that the heaviest fallout was carried over
it to drop elsewhere. But what counted most was
that the wan daylight glinted on a long shed roofed
with glass.

My God! Tanner breathed. I thought there
wasn't a greenhouse left in Britain!

He reached for binoculars, but Curtis for once
was quicker, and almost before he had adjusted
the focus he was able to say, Nor did I! And I
dont think thats pre-war. It looks as though its

42 Far Frontiers

been patched together from ordinary house-win-
dows.

But last summer there wasn't any sun! ob-
jected Tanner.

T know, I know!frantically scanning the area.
But look! There is smoke coming out of chimneys,
just as Ellis said!

People? Smith offered sourly, reaching for the
radio to report their positionand was answered
on the instant.

There was a noise like an angry bee and a clang
from the starboard wing. The wings held their
remaining supply of fuel; the long-range tanks slung
underneath were long since empty, only retained,
despite their extra drag, because they could not be
replaced if they were jettisoned. Smith jerked his
head around with a cry of alarm. A thin clear
spray of petrol was spurting from a neat round
hole, and it must be one of two, for the bullet
would have gone right through.

They're trying to shoot us down! the pilot
barked.

Tanner uttered a whimper of animal terror and
bent to retrieve from the floor their only weapon,
an army carbine. Curtis shouted at him.

Idiot! How can they be sure who we are? RAF
markings dont mean anything nowadays! We could
be bandits who stole this plane, couldn't we? We
dont shoot backwe land and talk to them!

We dont have much choice about landing,
Smith said grimly. With that much free juice
blowing around, its a marvel we're not on fire
already. If we're going to make it back to base, we
have to patch those leaks at once!

TI think we're being invited, Curtis muttered.
Look, theres a level bit of road and someone's
waving to us.

TALION 43

At the lower end of the towns single street,
between abandoned houses whose roofs, unlike
those higher up, still bore a layer of frost, the
roadway was indeed relatively intact, and wide
and long enough for the Optica to use as a runway.
Luckily the wind gusting over most of this region
today was diverted by the nearby hills.

Nonetheless Smith swore to himself as he made
a wide turn and set the plane down with a screech
of brakes. By the time it came to a halt, the briefly-
glimpsed figure who had signalled an invitation to
land had disappeared.

Since the shot rang out everything had hap-
pened so rapidly Curtis had scarcely had time to
feel frightened. Smith at least retained his sense of
priorities, and demonstrated the fact by seizing a
pack of emergency repair patches. Climbing over
the minister without ceremony, emerging with
hands half-raised to show he bore no weapon, he
strode to where he could seal the holes: slap below,
so the dribble of fuel ceased; then, using the star-
board tire for a step, slap above, at the maximum
reach of his arm.

They haven't shot me yet, he said gruffly. But
they could be covering us from any of those empty
houses, and at least one of them is bloody good
with a gun. You'd better get down too.

There was a rattling noise, so distinct that at
first Curtis imagined it to come from the radiation-
counter. But it was Tanners teethor rather, his
false ones. Like most of the survivors at Corsham
he had lost his own, and dentistry was low on the
urgent list.

The sound gave Curtis an excuse for spurious
courage. His own, starboard, door being ajar, he
snapped at the younger man to open the port one
also, and added: Pull yourself together! What do

44 Far Frontiers

you think we've run intoa gang of psychotic
killers? If they merely wanted to wipe us out they
could have done it by now! It looks more as though
they want us to advance and be recognized!

He slid to the ground, afraid it might be icy, but
it was only wet. He secured a good footing and
looked around. The nearest houses were small and
cramped into rows; their doors were gone, doubt-
less for firewood, and their windows presumably
to build the greenhouse. On higher ground to the
west there were other and larger buildings, a
church, a school perhaps, a town hall, a probable
nonconformist chapel sited arrogantly almost in
the shade of its older-established rival. Up there,
too, the slate roofs appeared to be in good repair,
and he caught a whiff of sulphur-tainted smoke.

Then suddenly he recognized something on the
flank of a lowering hill: under a half-melted mask
of snow, the shape of that kind of oblong gallery
which typically sheltered the entrance to a drift-
mine, where a seam could be worked on the level
without hoisting gear.

For a moment he was proud of himself; had he
not already remembered that there had been scores,
maybe hundreds of villages like this one folded
among the westerly hills, whose people had been
glad to turn from the uncertainties of raising sheep
when mineral wealth was discovered underground?
Then he realized he didnt know for sure what had
been dug in this area. Was it coal? Or was it lead
or tin, or even silver? He reproached himself for
being so ignorant of the country he claimed to love
so much, yet had paid attention to only when it
was past repair.

Stop: he must not think such thoughts! He cupped
his hands to his mouth, wishing he could have
brought a functioning loud-hailerbut there were

TALION 45

no batteries left to power thoseand shouted,
Hello! We're friends, weve come to help! We're
from the Emergency Government! Im the Minis-
ter of National Recovery!

The words died away into faint echoes among
the stark facades of the abandoned houses. Aban-
donedbut probably not empty. Noticing how
many windows and doorways might offer vantage-
points to hidden snipers, as Smith had hinted, he
shivered, not from the chill.

That worked a bloody treat, didnt it? the pi-
lot growled, rejoining him. A hot retort boiled up
in Curtis's mouth: any approach to a survivors
group was always supposed to include references
to a ministry or a government department, which
would combine overtones of pre-war normality with
the implication of authority to be defied at your
peril. He himself had helped to draft the standard
procedure.

Only here, now, on the first occasion he had had
to put it personally to the test, it seemed to have
been found wanting. Accordingly he held his tongue.

He gazed around, wondering whether to bring
the binoculars, and suddenly a voice addressed
them, seeming no louder than if the speaker were
the other side of a room.

Move away from the plane, please. You're cov-
ered by six first-rate markspeople.

Behind the words: the unmistakable snick of the
bolt on an old-fashioned rifle.

They cant order us about like that! Smith
exclaimed, tossing the repair patches back into the
planes cabin.

It strikes me as proper defensive procedure,
Curtis sighed. TI could have been lying, couldn't I?
Come on.

46 Far Frontiers

Reluctantly, as though physical separation from
the plane were a sort of amputation, they obeyed.

Very sensible, approved the voice when they
had covered a dozen paces. From shadow within a
doorway the speaker appeared. One of his hands
was empty; the other clasped a crutch improvised
out of pieces of tubing such as in the old days might
have been attachments to a vacuum-cleaner. On
the same side his leg was shrivelled, pipestem-
thin, the foot drawn up into a kind of claw which
dangled pendulum-wise beneath his knee. Also that
side of his face was scarred; the cheek was puck-
ered and a keloid had formed along the angle of
the jaw. That apart, he looked healthy, judging by
what of his skin was not concealed by greasy tat-
tered clothing. He was thin, but his eyes were
bright, his face and hands were free of sores,
andan index of a functional communitysomeone
had gone to the trouble of neatly sewing up his
short trouser-leg, rather than just chopping it off
and letting it fray.

How old was he? Curtis estimated he could not
be much over twenty. However, his youth counted
for less than the fact that he exuded confidence
and self-possession.

A subaltern type! Wonderful!

So you're not just sent by the government, the
cripple said after looking the strangers over. One
of you is a minister, yet! Well, well!

Sensing that Smith was about to snap back,
Curtis caught at his arm. But suddenly there was a
noise from behind and all three of them swung
around. Smith uttered an oath and started back
towards the Optica.

Better not, warned the young man with the
crutch.

TALION 47

The hell you say! the pilot roared. Those bas-
tards have no business monkeying with my plane!

Curtis too felt a pang of alarm. From an alley
between the low-built houses two people had
materialized, probably young by the way they
moved, but whether male or female it was impossi-
ble to judge because they were so disguised by
their ill-fitting clothes. One had opened the engine
compartment, while the other was peering this way
and that inside the cabin. Smith made to rush at
them.

Wing commander! the cripple said with force,
and Curtis noted the fact that he had recognized
the rank-stripes on the pilots suit. Stay where
you are, please. They're entitled to do what they're
doing. You might say they're agents of our Minis-
try of Local Recovery.

Smith, don't be a fool! Curtis forced out. We
haven't done much for these people lately, have
we? And anybody who can bring land back under
cultivationDammit, do you want to get us all
shot?

Tanner, looking sick, offered vigorous nods in
support.

Dejectedly, Smith yielded. Closing the gap be-
tween him and them with three swift strides, the
cripple said, Theres no need to worry about your
aircraft, I assure you. By the way, Im interested to
see that you've kept at least one of the Opticas in
serviceable condition. It must be much lighter on
fuel than a helicopter. Anyhow, all my friends are
doing is followinghmm! Let me see if I can get
the jargon right ... Ah, yes: they're following our
SOP for this kind of case.

You've been contacted before? Curtis flashed.

Oh, nowith a lopsided shrug. But we were
resigned to it happening sooner or later.

48 Far Frontiers

So what are they doing? Smith demanded,
clenching his fists.

Immobilizing the machine, searching it for arms,
and deactivating the radio so that it'll be we, not
you, who determine what news about us reaches
your headquarters. I suppose you'd call these pre-
cautionary measures, right?

The cripple cocked his head, but remained other-
wise expressionless. Curtis was still struggling to
find an answer when the pair who had raided the
plane reported with their booty.

Took out the ignition leads, said the first, a
man. Not something you can replace with baling
wire.

When the other spokea womanit could be
seen she had already lost most of her lower teeth,
though she could scarcely be older than her twen-
ties.

The radios demountable. Probably theyre run-
ning short of parts, have to take out things like
this and use them for other purposes when the
plane isnt flying. But its been well serviced. Oh,
and there's a gun on the floor of the cabin. I re-
moved the bullets. She patted her hip; if there
was a pocket there, Curtis could not see its opening.
With a meaning glance at him, she added, Were
not thieves. Just trying to protect ourselves.

Well done, and thank you. The cripple shifted
his attention to the newcomers again. Now we
can spare time for proper introductions. My name
is Edwin Renshaw. I usually answer to Ed. And
you are

Curtis cleared his throat.

My name is Reginald Curtis. As I said before,
Im the Minister for National Recovery. This is my
personal aide, Mr. Tanner. And this is He hesi-
tated for a second, and Smith cut in.

TALION 49

Air Marshal Smith!

The cripple looked at his face, at his badges of
rank, and at his face again. Just as Smith was
reddening and about to erupt, Curtis broke in.

IuhI must say I admire what little Ive seen
of your organization around here. Merely to have
ploughed a field and sown it over is an achievement.
As for your greenhouse, and your watermillwell!
Am I right in assuming thatuhyou're more or
less in charge?

Me? I'm not in charge of anything, Ed answered.
Its just that Im better employed talking and
thinking than doing anything more strenuous. For
reasons which ought to be obvious.

He jerked his wasted thigh. The shin and foot
beneath swung obscenely in mid-air.

But how did you? Curtis began, meaning to
ask how they had survived unaided. Ed was ahead
of him.

Cora, you said you found a gun in the plane?

The woman nodded.

Where theres one there may be more. Andy,
they'll have to be searched before we take them up
the hill.

Eagerly Curtis said, That was our only weapon,
I assure you!

So you managed to let them all off? Ed
countered. Didn't even save a few for World War
IV? He waited for a second; then, as though not
expecting an answer, went on: And dont forget
the crotch. According to pre-war thrillers thats a
favorite hiding-place.

Tm not going to have bastards like you groping
me in public! blurted Smith.

Put up with it! Curtis snapped. Don't these
people deserve our respect? Its a hell of a job
retaining any sort of order in the middle of chaos,

50 Far Frontiers

and theyve done it without any help from us! He
could hear his voice shaking with the excitement
he felt at having found an enclave of civilization in
what he had imagined to be a barren waste.

Oh, hell! I'll take my balls out and wave them
around, how about that? Smith muttered, but
sulkily allowed the body-search along with his
companons.

Clean, Andy grunted at last.

So far, so good, then, Ed approved. Its an
advantage not to be caught out in a silly lie. When
it comes to overall credibility, I mean. Since your
statement about being unarmed has been borne
out, I'll accept that you are who you say you are:
the Minister of National Recovery. Now the cru-
cial question. What brings you here?

Curtis drew a deep breath, fighting to control
the tension in his gut that must eventually bring
on another spasm from his chronic ulcer. He said,
As and when we can spare the fuel and a pilot fit
enough to fly, weve been scouring the whole of
Britain for survivors. A couple of weeks ago we
had a report to the effect that part of this area had
recently been put back under cultivation. The pi-
lot took some pictures, but unfortunately the film
was faultyradiation-foggedand his radio was
on the blink, so we had only a vague idea of your
location. Otherwise we'd have been here sooner.

T see. Yes, we did notice an overflight a while
ago, didnt we? Ed glanced at Andy and Cora for
confirmation, and they nodded. Well, I suppose it
was unavoidable. But tell me this: do you always
send a cabinet minister to visit newly-found sur-
vivors?

Was there mockery in that gentle, polite tone?
To his dismay Curtis realized he could no longer

TALION 51

judge; he had spent too long in the company of
those who spoke only to issue orders ormore
oftento convey despair.

How to explain, anyway, that he had to make
this trip personally? Minister or not, regardless of
what objections his despondent colleagues raised,
he had come to prove what he had always believed:
that people could still live and flourish in the midst
of devastation!

Then, displaying his civil servant s taste for mask-
ing an awkward pause with empty phrases, Tan-
ner spoke up with a little bob of his head and a
nervous hand-washing movement.

My Minister judged from the pilots report that
you were managing astonishingly well. Naturally
he wanted to inspect your achievements for him-
self.

Tanner, you re a worse fool than I feared.

What he ought to have stated at once, Curtis
thought, was that his own title and that of the
person he served were both near as dammit mean-
ingless. Ministerfaugh! The truth was that the
three of them, like everyone else who had survived
at Corsham of whatever status, were each like one
man trying with his bare hands to plug a breached
dyke that needed a million tons of rock. The days
would never come again when a cabinet minister
sat in an air-conditioned office and deputed subor-
dinates to carry out his wishes. There weren't
enough subordinates to go aroundthough admit-
tedly some of them had a sight more sense than
this nitwitted Tanner...

But he still hadn't framed his thoughts in proper
words when Ed gave a lopsided shrug and spoke
again.

Its much too early for us to quit work at this
season when every daylight hour is precious, but

52 Far Frontiers

some of us can spare a while to hear what you
have to say. Come up the town.

As though that were a code-word, the nearby
houses uttered people: four, five, six of them. Smith
drew in his breath with a hissing sound, for al-
though two of them looked like mere children each

bore a guna couple of rifles, three twelve-bores
and a .410.

And they had other things in common, too. They
had the haggard cheeks of those who had gone
long without decent food; their expressions were
sullen and hostile; and their gaze was honed to
sharpness with distrust.

Most stood apart, warily, but a man in his fifties
who carried a rifle approached in response to a

gesture from Ed. He was addressed as Mervyn; he
wore a tweed suit, much torn and stained, but no
overcoat, despite the cold. His hands shook con-
stantly; his face was thin and nervous, and like
Cora he had lost a lot of teeth.

With terrible difficulty he posed a question: Y-y-
you W-w-want m-m-me to c-c-come along?

At the ready, was Eds dry answer. And, with
a glance at the strangers, he added, Don't be
misled. Mervyn is an excellent shot, as the damage
to your plane will testify. I believe the technical
term is intention tremor. 

Mervyn gave a vigorous nod and a gapped smile.

T shot you d-down, he said, patting the stock
of his gun. The t-t-trouble g-goes away when some-
thing important has to be d-done. Its a kind of
P-parkinsons D-d-d ... He shut his eyes for a
second, and concentrated. Disease! he achieved
at last.

Surgeons used to operate in spite of it, Ed
commented with a sad chuckle. So dont think of

TALION 53

making a break, will you? Not that theres any
place for you to go.

So they trudged up the single street, which shortly
grew far narrower than the section where Smith
had been able to set down the plane. As they
climbed, they had a bitter view of the mouth of
the gallery leading to the mine, and infuriating
bells of memory started to ring faintly in Curtiss
brain. Also, as they passed between houses in good
repair, he had the unpleasant sensation of being
constantly watched, even though those who had
ambushed them had dispersedback, he assumed,
to their usual work.

He clung for reassurance to the fact that they
did have organized work to do, and went about it,
rather than declining into apathy. How in the world
had they survived last winter? He must find out!

A dense bank of cloud masked the sun, restoring
the world to the gloom he had become accustomed
to over most of the past year. In the temporary
twilight he heard familiar noisesor rather, noises
that used to be familiar: the cluck of hens, the
baa-ing of sheep, the squeals and grunts of pigs.
Unable to contain himself any longer, he rounded
on Ed, who was keeping pace with his fitter com-
panions up the steeply slanting road.

Do you still have breeding stock of all your
animals?

The cripple halted and stared at him levelly,
until he had to drop his gaze.

T take it, Ed said at last, that you do not.

Well, we do have

Probably as little as we do. Even the hens eggs
are rarely fertile, though the pigeons seem to have
done all right. As for the piglets! But thats enough
for the moment. You're fat, to my amazement, and

54 Far Frontiers

this is a steep hill. Save your breath until we get
to the school.

You have a school? Curtis exclaimed. Its in
use? That above all was the index he had chosen
to mark out a survivable community: educating
the next generation was the touchstone of confi-

dence in the future. Hope flared for a second in his
mind.

Then Ed said bitterly, You mean pupils memo-
rizing the classics by rote? As they would have
said in the old days, thou hastest to be jokingest.
Why cant you hold your politician's tongue for
just a minute?

Bridling, Tanner started to say something about
due respect, but Curtis scowled him down, aware

of a curious sense of anticipation. Could it be that
these isolated people had found a solution to what
had baffled all the brilliant brains for whom places
had been reserved in the deep bunkers, who had
emerged on the surface and for the most part
thrown their hands up in despair, not knowing
where to start again to build a civilized society?

Behind him, Smith was muttering curses against
those around him and their ancestors. Curtis bit
his lip.

Civilized?

They reached the building which was quite obvi-
ously a school; at any rate, before it lay a wide
asphalt playground, with a merry-go-round, a slide,
and a tall iron frame from which still hung three
swings made of plain wooden boards on thick ropes.
Assuming this to be their destination, Curtis slowed.
But Mervyn, following close behind, hastened him
on towards the largest house of all, atop the rise
adjacent to the church.

Isnt that the school? he demanded of Ed,

TALION 55

panting; the pace the cripple was setting on the
slope was tiring him.
That? No, we use it mainly to store turnips and

potatoesnot that we have much stock of either
left.

But it was a school, surely! Curtis cried.

Was, Ed echoed, and reached out with his
crutch to tap Curtis on the buttocks, as though
goading a sluggish ox. And that other building
we just passed was a chapel, only now most of us
live in it because its easier to keep warm when
you all huddle together.

Trying not to stumble, Curtis half-turned to
glance back at the chapel. It was built of the same
stone as most nearby housesa variety of granite,

was his guessbut it had a line of pointed win-
dows either side and a pointed door. He said, imag-
ining he had guessed the explanation for what Ed
had just told him, Ah! Under the stress of the
war, everyone came back to the older church. Was
that the way of it?

Church? said a female voice at his side. It was
Cora.

Yes, church!feverishly. That church! He
gestured ahead, indicating the steeple silhouetted
on the darkling sky, the long shape of the nave. He
even fancied he caught a polychrome gleam re-
flected from stained glass.

Oh, you mean the big barn, said Andy, coming
up behind him. Thats where we keep our cows
and horses.

Where you? What? And Curtis registered from
the corner of his eye the horror that Tanner was
displaying.

If only we had donkeys too, Cora sighed. I
always hoped we might breed at least a few mules,

56 Far Frontiers

but we only had one jack, and he died. She
sounded genuinely sorrowful.

Ed rapped on the road with his crutch, as though
to signal a warning, and she fell silent.

Gulping, Curtis ventured, It sounds as though
you ve set out deliberately to change the old
usages. And added, when no reply was forth-
coming: What have you turned that into? It looks
like the town hall.

You're halfway right, Ed conceded. But we
didn't plan it that way. We just tookhad to
takea fresh look at what was left to us. We didn't
have a hospital, and that was what we needed
most, and the town hall was the best choice. And
the old rectory with its nineteen rooms became
the school.

School? Curtis echoed in bewilderment. Nine-
teen rooms? My God, how many of you are there?

Just over two hundred. There may have been a
birth or two today; were expecting four about this
time.

And you need a school with nineteen rooms?

T told you: not the kind of school you're accus-
tomed to! In this foul new world, doesnt everyone
have to learn how to stay alive, all over again? The
war made students of us all, Mr. Ministerall that
are left!

Waiting long enough to be sure his point had
sunk home in Curtis's mind, he concluded, But
my father is the one you need to talk to. By now
he'll be expecting us. Come in and meet him!

He strode ahead along a frost-deformed path-
way of slate slabs, traversing what must once have
been a handsome garden but now was trenched in
hope of growing potatoes. The few haulms that
had sprouted were wan and yellow. At least, though,
Curtis told himself, an effort was being made.

TALION 57
T dont like this, Smith muttered. I think its

a trap!

Tanner's teeth were chattering again, but he con-
trived to say, He said his fathers expecting us.
How's that possible? I didnt notice any phone-
lines, I didn't see anybody run ahead of us

Shut up and don't be such a fool! Curtis
snapped. From here you can overlook the whole
damned town! Are you so used to living under-
ground that you've forgotten about windows with
a view?

Conscious of a petty triumph, he marched ahead
through the main door of the house, which Ed was
politely holding.

On the right, the cripple said, and at the full
reach of his crutch thrust a front-room door ajar.

Come in! called a husky voice.

Tanner and Smith hung back. Determined to

shame them, Curtis advanced as he was bidden.

The room stretched from front to rear of the
house, with windows at either end. In spite of that
it was dark, notlike so many he had seen in the
past yearbecause its interior had been blackened
by smoke, but because its walls were lined and
crammed with books in discolored bindings, no
doubt salvaged from every library within reach,
whether public or private. Some were neatly ar-
ranged on shelves; far more lay in stacks on the
floor. A pair of trestle tables, that narrowed the
floor-space, groaned under yet more books. One
which caught his eye was a volume of the Britan-
nica, its front cover folded back to reveal that its
blank flyleaf had been torn out. Covered with dense
writing, a sheet of paper which might be that
flyleaf poked out from between the pages.

There was also a desk. On it reposed a pile of

58 Far Frontiers

scrap paper weighted with a brass statuette, a jar
holding a few pencils and several sticks of charcoal,
a bedpan, and a medicine-glass with a teaspoon in
it.

On its other side sat a man in a wheelchair.

Curtis experienced a curious temptation not to
see him: thin, his skin almost yellow, very tightly
stretched on the bone beneath, wearing a blue
dressing-gown with astonishing red lapels over a
thick undervest buttoned to the neck. That neck
was bird-thin, corded, the Adam's apple prominent.
Hands whose backs were corded, too, with bluish
veins, sprang from cuffs of the same red as the
lapels. Eyes sharp, keen, dark preserving a fire
which perhaps had once burned in the whole of
the wasting body, looked out of the gaunt face as
though from another world. However

Having glanced at him only once, the minister
stared past him towards the far window, not
through it at the snow-streaked hillside beyond,
but at something pinned to its frame: a tatter-
edged sheet of paper bearing a broken cross in-
verted within a circle, blue on white.

Entering on Curtis s heels, Tanner saw it at the
same time and gave a strangled moan of dismay.
Then followed Smith and Smiths anger.

What the hell have we wound up in? A nest of
stinking traitors, by God!

He strode forward, hands raised as though to
tear down the paper with the symbol and trample
the man in the wheelchair on his way.

Smith! Curtis found his voice just in time.
Stop it, damn you!

Don't you know what that is? Smith roared,
rounding on him. Have you forgotten what it
means? Cowards! Traitors! Ive put up with all Im
going to take from bastards like that!

TALION 59

T said stop it!

For a terrible instant Curtis thought Smith was
going to defy him. Then the bluster faded. The
pilot turned his back in a pose of idiotic theatrical-
ity and stared fixedly out of the opposite window
which did indeed offer an overview of the whole
town, past the school playground and the chapel
clear to where the Optica had landed, perhaps
even beyond on a clearer day than this.

There was a faint chuckle, most likely from Ed.
But the cripple had closed the door and left them
alone with his father.

Curtis found he was shaking with relief. It had
been a shock to him too to find that long-banned
symbol in this place. The last time he'd seen it had
beenwhen? Oh, yes: cut with a knife on the na-
ked breast of that woman the mob had lynched at
Castle Cary. A traitors sign? After the war it had
been made more of a traitors brand ...

Yet chancing on it here might not be so incon-
gruous after all. It was an arguable claim that the
people who adopted it had thought more about
the outcome of another war than anybody else
save those like himself whose business it had been
to plan for the catastrophe. And given that some of
them, at least, had been possessed of a healthy
urge towards survival

He dragged his eyes away from the symbol and
looked at his unexpected host. The latters only
response to Smith's outburst had been to adopt a
stiff, out-of-practice smile. All the teeth had gone
from both his jaws except five on the left upper
side.

Mr. Curtis! he said. Why, you've changed less
than I have. When Olwen ran up here with the
news, I wondered whether I'd recognize you from
your old pictures in the papers. But I see the like-

60 Far Frontiers

ness plainly. What are you doing now that your
constituency ishow shall I put it? Ah! A rotten
borough? You used to be my Member, you know.
As Ed would put it, my erected member!

Curtis suppressed a start and peered more closely
at the skull-like face. Doubtfully he said, I don't
recall...

You wouldn't, naturally. The man attempted
a chuckle, but it turned to a hacking cough, and it
was seconds before he managed to continue. As a
matter of fact, we never actually met. But you
once had the pleasureas it wereof putting me in

jail. My name is Eric Renshaw.

Click.

A photograph enclosed in a confidential dossier,
its cover stamped RETURN TO NEW SCOTLAND
YARD, SPECIAL BRANCH. A voice heard on the
tape of an intercepted phone-call. A secret memoran-
dum to a judge, insisting that he pass a heavy
sentence on this dangerous subversive. .. .

Curtis felt the iron hand clasp his guts again,
and had to steady himself with a touch on Tanner's
shoulder. The contact informed him that the youn-
ger man was shaking like an aspen-leaf.

Aspen? How many aspens are in leaf this year? How
long before no one will know what aspens look like?

I see you do remember, Renshaw said. In
case you need further prompting, I should say
that my offense consisted in leading two thousand
people into the area designated for a Civil Defense
exercise and demanding that they receive treat-
ment as though they were genuine casualties, in
hope that the government would prove it could be
done. They'd promised it would be possible for
millions, and my offense, in the last analysis, was
to doubt that promise. Most of the others were

TALION 61

fined twenty pounds. As a ringleader, I was sin-
gled out for preferential punishment.

Again that forced, unhabitual smile, seeming to
be dredged from far in the past.

Well, Mister Reginald Curtis, Member of Parlia-
ment? There was the same note of mockery in this
voice that there had been in his sons(Son? Vague
memory of a boy sent down from university be-
cause he missed a terms study when he likewise
got sent to jail after a protest demonstration ...
but no recollection of him being crippled. Maybe
more than one child, then. What happened to the
others?)only now the mockery wasnt veiled, but
overt.

Well? Renshaw taunted. Which of us was
rightMinister?

Curtis's vision swam. He heard, and felt, a gasp
break from his body. It was as though he stood at
one remove from himself, detached in space and
time as well. He barely reacted when Tanner spoke
to him.

Here, sir! Heres a chair!

Feeling it thrust against the backs of his knees,
he folded compliantly, fumbling again for his box
of tablets. He was supposed to take not more than
one every four hours, but this was an emergency.

As from a vast distance Renshaw's thin voice
reached him. How rude of me not to have invited
you to sit down before. Mr. Tanner, do be seated
and you, Wing Commander!

Smith, half-turning, spat in the direction of
the open volume of Britannica, but missed, and re-
sumed his glaring out the window. Renshaw gave
an exaggerated sigh.

Well, when you get tired of standing ... Mr.
Curtis, are you feeling better? Good! Well, you've
seen a sample of what Ive been up to since our

62 Far Frontiers

paths last crossed. So, as I was going to say: how
about yourself? Your electors cant be demanding
much of your time these days.

How does he pack so much ghoulish cheerfulness
into his voice? As though he were meeting an old
friend after a trip abroad!

He said with an effort, I gather you find the
fate of my constituency amusing. I don't. I haven't
been able to joke for a long time.

Granted, Renshaw said. It wasn't very funny,
was it?

No one expected it to be! Curtis flared, feeling
a resurgence of his spirits as the tablet took effect.
But as for who was rightwasn't that what you
just asked me?We were! There was bound to be
a nuclear war, and no one could make it go away
by wishing! Anyway, that doesn't matter any more.
The only thing that counts now is to make the best
of whats left to us! He realized his voice was too
shrill, and forcibly lowered it. Which, as far as I
can tell, is what you re trying to do here. That puts
us on the same side, doesn't it?

Tm not sure I'd entirely agree with you.
Renshaws fire-bright eyes, live embers in his ashen
face, flicked from Curtis to Tanner to Smith's obsti-
nate back, and settled on Curtis again. By then all
mockery had vanished and his voice grew level
and dry, like the bed of a stream in time of drought.

Are you really a full minister now? When I last
heard of you, you were only the Home Secretary's
PPS.

Curtis nodded. He said thickly, I wasuhas
you know, I was chairman of the House of Com-
mons Committee on Civil Defence. I was ... well,
best qualified, I suppose.

Of the survivors? Renshaw needled.

Yes, damn it!

TALION 63

T see. And where are you operating fromCor-
sham?

So you do know about the Emergency Govern-
ment!

Of course. We had a couple of old-fashioned
valve radios capable of surviving an EMP, and we
rigged up some pedal-powered generators. We've
been listening to you ever since the war.

Then I'd have thoughtCurtis picked his way
with care among words that might be as treacher-
ous as land-mines"you could have set up a trans-
mitter too.

Would you? countered Renshaw noncommit-
tally. Well, we didnt. But weve monitored your
broadcasts regularly in the hope of finding out
something which in fact never gets mentioned.
Maybe you can tell us.

Curtis felt sweat gather on his forehead. He ran
his finger around the collar of his coat, for it sud-
denly felt far too tight.

What? he achieved at last.

The present population of the British Isles.

Tanner stifledhalf-stifleda groan. From the
corner of his eye Curtis saw that he had put his
hand over his mouth as though to prevent himself
uttering a reply. But what purpose did deception
serve? He delivered the truth in a defiant tone.

As near as we can tell: two hundred and eighty-
five thousand.

What?

It was a source of grim satisfaction to Curtis to
find that he had shattered Renshaws mask-like
composure. Let him ponder what its been like to live
with that knowledge!

But the other recovered rapidly. He said after
only a brief pause, I see. Those who made it to
deep shelters with plenty of provisions, is that the

64 Far Frontiers

way of it? So what became of your millions of
probable survivors ?

I knew it when I crossed the threshold and saw
that symbol. It felt like walking into the past...

Butworse than thatabruptly it was like hav-
ing the past stand up and speak to him. The prom-
ise of millions of survivors was as ridiculous as
the peace symbol pinned to the window-frame, in
this harsh real world.

He countered in the steadiest voice he could

muster, Do you mean how were the casualties
caused?

T mean: how did more than fifty million of us
die, Mr. Curtis? Casualties? Thats a word we don't
use. Dead bodies is what we say. Corpses! He

leaned back in his wheelchair. How many were
killed by what? That's plain English. I want an
answer in the same blunt terms.

Oh, hell... !

Tanner, Curtis muttered, quote our estimates. 

The civil servant's teeth were chattering again.
But he took hold of himself and began to recite in
the impersonal tone he frequently adopted when
he was worried or had been reprimanded.

We assess that twenty-four million died in the
initial attack, from direct blast-effects or the subse-
quent fires. The weapons used were mostly of one-
half to three megatons yield, air-burst in the first
wave, ground-burst in the second. Approximately
another fourteen million died from the immediate
effects of fallout during the next few weeks. Some
otherwise uncontaminated areas, particularly in
Wales, Ulster, the West of England and the West of
Scotland, were more severely affected by fallout
arriving later from North America, and intensive
fallout from the battlefields on the continent is

TALION 65

known to have drifted over southern and eastern
counties.

At some point during Tanners recital Renshaw
had raised his hands and folded them on the desk
as though in a sketch for prayer. He had not other-
wise reacted.

Like a record being played, unemotionally, Tan-
ner went on. He said, What we refer to as the
third strike, consisting of a salvo of kilo-ton weap-
ons submarine-launched from the North Sea, re-
sulted in approximately one million further deaths
in the evacuation zone between Leominister and
Stourbridge. This was about a week after the effec-
tive cessation of other hostilities.

He stopped.

Go on, Renshaw said in a grating tone. We
began with over fifty million, and you've left a
good many of them unaccounted for.

Oh, for God's sake! Curtis exploded. What do
you think? Starvation and sickness killed the rest
of them! Contaminated water, deficiency diseases
wild dogs, come to that! Even before the freeze,
epidemics were going through the survivors like
machine-gun bullets!

The freeze, Renshaw repeated thoughtfully.
Yes. We feared that most. That's why we took
such precautions. 

Sensing the chance to switch the discussion on
to a more positive track, Curtis said, How do you
mean?

Short of emigrating to the southern hemisphere,
there was only one sane choice. Ed and I studied
all the maps we could find, especially official ones
showing probable targets and fallout patterns, and
then I realized every penny we had and some on

top, and bought a coal-mine.
What?

66 Far Frontiers

You heard me! A worked-out coal-mine, with too
little left in it to be economic. Enough, though, to
keep a handful of people warm during the nuclear
winter, if they didnt squander it. You passed the
entrance on your way up here.

And you used it as a shelter?

That as well, for the first few weeks.

My God! Curtis flung both hands in the air. I
wish we'd had a million like you!

Renshaw bared his remaining teeth again. What
a far cry from the days when you called me one of
Moscows dupes!

Thats what you always were and always will
be! Smith shouted, swinging round.

Smith, hold your bloody tongue! Curtis roared.
Stop living in the past! We need to find out more
about what was done here. It might lead us to
other pockets of survivors, and heaven knows we
need every able-bodied person!

Tanner drew Smith aside to soothe him, and
Curtis was able to continue.

You stocked the mine with food andand
medicines, and so on? Receiving a nod: How did
the local people feel about what you were doing?

Qh, some of them thought we were crazythe
ones who had swallowed your propaganda. But
there was forty per cent unemployment, and a
good few had stopped believing in goverment prom-
ises ... Towards the end, naturally, almost every-
one pitched in. We've come to be quite accepted
now.

TI should hope so! Mr. Renshaw, I truly am
impressed! If theres anything we can provide to
helpI dont want to make you imagine we plan
to take you over, because frankly all of us have
our hands full, and morebut if theres anything
you need ... Well, were running short of almost

TALION 67

everything, but we have reclaimed a lot of useful
scrap, for instance.

Bees?

T beg your pardon?

T said bees! Butterflies would be useful too, but
I imagine all the butterfly-farms were wiped out.
We're going to have to do one hell of a lot of
hand-pollination, because we only managed to save
two of our hives, and both the swarms are pretty
sickly after months on sugar-syrup.

WellahI must confess Im not sure. Tanner?

T dont think so, Minister, Tanner admitted.

Oh, hell. Oh, hell. Oh, hell. Renshaw put his
hands to his temples and squeezed so hard it
seemed he might crack his skull like a walnut.
Alarmed, Curtis leaned forward.

Tm sure you don't need to despair so. Like I
said, you've done miracles already!

Miracles? Oh, yesmiracles! Like the freak of
the wind which spared us the worst of the fallout,
is that what you mean? And were you too under
the special protection of Providence?

T wasnt under anything, Curtis sighed. Ex-
ceptground.

You said a moment ago you couldn't make jokes
any more!

T thought I couldn't. And it wasn't very witty
anyway, was it?

True.

There was a pause. During it, Curtis glanced
towards Smith, who stood drumming his fingers
on his biceps, and realized that vast clouds had
turned the sky beyond the window almost black.
Casting around for something else to say, he
chanced on a spark of memory.

T shouldn't be calling you Mr. Renshaw, should
I? Weren't you a doctor in general practice?

68 Far Frontiers

You've no idea how general its become!
Renshaw gave a harsh laugh, which as before
turned into a cough. Now Im a bosun tight and
a midshipmite and everything by turns: teacher,
ecologist, agronomist, town clerk ..

In other words, you're the leader of this com-
munity.

Leader? Heavens name, man! The opposite!

Curtis blinked incomprehension.

Oh, Im sure you'd love to pin that label on me,
but I cant oblige. Why should the people here
choose to take orders from a stranger who fled to
them for refuge?

But you must have some sort ofof organiza-
tion?

I suppose you could say we live under a system
of primitive communism ... Ah, Wing Commander
Smith has turned around! Why dont you sit down
now? Its getting too dark to see much out there.

Did you just say you were a communist? Smith
flared, taking an angry pace forward.

I did not. I never bothered much with party
politics. Though I did once point out to an Ameri-
can that in order to recover from a nuclear war it
would be necessary to adopt all the practices he
regarded as unforgivably socialist: central control
of all resources, for example, direction of labor,
confiscation of private property for the general
good, and so on. From each, to each, according
I forget the precise wording. But I imagine its
much the same everywhere now.

For a second Curtis was afraid Smith might dis-
pute Renshaws statement, but it was incontrovert-
ible even by him. With a shrug, he seized a chair
laden with books, tilted it so they crashed to the
floor, and sat down at last. There was no discerni-

TALION 69

ble reaction from Renshaw, who resumed where
he had left off.

And, speaking of America: are they sending any
aid?

Curtis felt himself flush, and was glad of the
dimness.

Not so far. The weather seems to have been
even worse there than in Europe, but they say they
have a lot of uncontaminated farmland, and with
only about twenty million people left to feed

Stop it! Smith bellowed. Stop playing up to
this son of a bitch! Dont you see? Thats what he
wants to hear! He wants to be told how bad it was
for us, and the Yanks, and everyone else in the free
world, so he can sit there and gloat about it! Why

in hell dont you tell him what we did to the
buggers on the other side? Thatll wipe the grin off
his face!

Rounding on Renshaw, he poured forth words
like vomit.

Why dont you ask what happened to the com-
mies that you love so much? Well, Ill tell you! We
burned them, by the bloody millions we burned
them! Whatever they gave us we gave back double,
only worse! They died like goddamned flies when
we were through with them! Christ, I wish I could
send you to join em! What the hell did you do to
help out when the crunch came, tell me that? Oh,
you ran for your cosy bolt-hole, didnt you? While
I was out there finishing off a whole division and
damned near getting killed in the process, you
were sitting on your arse whining for your beloved
Russkies to protect you from the wicked British
government!

What was that about finishing off an entire
division? Renshaw said. Only his lips moved;

70 Far Frontiers

the rest of him was still as a statue carved in
stone.

Smith, be quiet! Curtis shouted.

T will not! Hes a traitora traitora lousy
stinking traitor! Leaping up from his chair, he
planted his fists on the desk and leaned so close
that flecks of spittle from his lips landed on the
older mans face.

Tm proud of what I did, dyou hear me? I was a
Jaguar pilot, and I bombed the bastards between
Chemnitz and Plauen, and I hope I killed a hun-
dred thousand of them, and I made it home to go
on fighting! But you! You... !

He locked his fingers together as though around
a throat. His joints cracked like dry twigs breaking.

TI never before met a man who could drop a
nuclear bomb, Renshaw said after a pause that
was like the moment between the lightning and
the thunder. But I must say you're exactly the
kind of person I always pictured.

What the hell do you mean by that? Smith
screamed. Curtis, struggling to his feet, cast around
for some way to stop him physically attacking
Renshaw, but before he could shape words the
doctor himself found a solution. His thin claw-
hand dropped momentarily out of sight under the
desk; when it reappeared, it was holding a revolver.

Sit down, he said to Smith, a trace of perspira-
tion on his parchment forehead catching the last
glint of daylight.

The pilot stepped back. He said mockingly,
You'd never have the guts to use that thing.

Oh, you mistake me. Ive never been a pacifist
by conviction, any more than I'm a traitor. There
are situations where a threat of force will per-
suade rational men to adopt a wiser course of
action. Im sure you're a rational manaren't you?

TALION 71

But just in case your're skeptical, I assure you this
is a real gun, with real ammunition. And ... Well,
while I've killed fewer than you, I too have killed.

Smith, face suddenly paling, lowered himself back
to his chair. His expression reflected total incredu-
lity.

As though returning from an immense distance,
Curtis felt himself slip back into a different mode
of existence. Desperate to deflate the tension, he
essayed jocularity.

Well, well, Dr. Renshaw! How strange to find
you a convert to the theory of deterrence!

Oh, deterrence can be made to work. Renshaw
did not withdraw his dark gaze from Smith. As
between rational individuals, that is. But a govern-
ment is not an individual and there are excellent
grounds for claiming that it cant be rational, either.
A thousand otherwise intelligent and sober people
can become a mob with an IQ lower than an
animals. So can an army, which is another kind of
mob. The whole can be made to act like less than
the sum of its parts. The wing commander here
has acted logically in face of what youre pleased
to call my deterrent. He has removed the factor
which would have led to his destruction by sitting
down. The old governments, of one of which you
once had the honor to be a minor representative,
never behaved as sanely as that, did they? On the
contrary! Mr. Smith would have acted like one of
those governments if, for example, he had contin-
ued to approach with hands raised as though to
strangle me, saying the while, You cant scare
me! And his death would inevitably have resulted,
as have so many billions of others. I remember
saying, Mr. Curtisif not to you personally, at least
to other members of your partythat the rational
course for governments facing each other under

72 Far Frontiers

the threat of annihilation was for them mutually
to admit that they had made a mistake and set out
in search of a better alternative. Since their collec-
tive intelligence, however, was by then at a some-
what lower level than that of the barbarians who
followed Genghis Khan, they went right on doing
what they were used to doing, much as an animal
will batter a wall with its head till its unconscious,
instead of learning to lift the latch of a door.

Dont rub it in, Curtis said wearily. We
miscalculated, thats undeniable. But we're doing
our best to make amends.

You remind me of a story they tell about
Napoleon, Renshaw said. I seem to recall that
you admired Napoleon in the old days, so you
probably know this anecdote. It seems he had dis-
missed one of his generals, and friends of the dis-
graced officer came to plead for him, saying, He
did his best! And Napoleon said

 Show me a man who has not yet done his
best,  Curtis supplied.  For him there is still
hope.

Yes.



There was a short silence, almost complete save
that they heard trudging footsteps on the road. No
doubt it had become so dark that people were
having to return from outdoor work. Moreover it
was growing cruelly cold.

When the pause became unendurable Curtis
forced out, You said you're not the local leader,
because you came here as an outsider. Was there
not a mayor, or somebodyuhbefore?

Are you referring to the chairman of the coun-
cil?

T suppose so.

He was assigned a place in a deep bunker. He

TALION 73

took it, and left his family. Since then we've heard
no more.

Well, then! Curtis racked his brains. There
must have beenaha vicar, or a parson!

Indeed. But they expelled him from the shelter.

Curtis jolted upright, unsure he could believe
his ears, but Renshaw locked eyes with him.

Yes, you heard right. He was an outsider, as I
am, but he had done nothing to helpnothing but
praise the Lord for granting to his faithful flock
this triumph over the hordes of unbelievers. So
they decided his was a mouth not worth feeding,
and told him to cast himself on the mercy of
God. ... Of course, he was deranged by the war,
but he was not alone in that. If we did win, as Mr.
Smith would doubtless claim, the victory was
Pyrrhic. The people here come of a very old stock,
Mr. Curtis. For century upon century they have
demanded that their priests and lords produce
results. And when they don't...

The thin hand that did not hold his gun folded
in mid-air, as though closing the cover of a book.

An equally sad fate overtook someone you'd
doubtless want news of: the local Civil Defense
organizer. We were told about him by refugees
who'd been shot at when they sought admission to
the county emergency headquarters. Not that any of
them survived for long, poor devils.

At any rate, they reported how, when he real-
ized what sort of task he was facing now the bombs
had actually fallen, he took poison. He was proba-
bly the first victim of the war in his home town.
Not, naturally, the last.

Curtis felt another twinge from his ulcer. He
said angrily, Much more of this and I'll have to
agree with Smith! You are gloating!

Tm trying to confront the facts, thats all. As I

74 Far Frontiers

told Mr. Smith: I too have killed. And I have

mostly with a bubble of air injected into a vein,
because air costs nothing. I've had to give release to
the aged, and the incurably radiation-sick, and the
hopelessly burned, and now Im having to dispose
of malformed babies: so far, nine. Ive betrayed all
the ancient tenets of my calling, just about. But
we do have over two hundred people, and they're
mostly fit, and even cripples like my son have
been given the chance to contribute to the com-
munityyYes, of course! The word I should have
used, to avoid offending Mr. Smith, was commu-
nalism. What we have left belongs by consent to
whoever makes best use of it. We've had to be so
careful about waste, you know ...

He shook his head repeatedly as the last word
died away.

Mr.ahDr. Renshaw, Tanner ventured, may
we go back now? Mr. Curtis has told you we don't
plan to interfere, but really its getting very dark,
and... He swallowed noisily, more air than saliva.

And I've had the ill manners to offer neither
food nor drink since your arrival, Renshaw said,
recovering his poise. Well, Im afraid its not in
my power to grant you anything, you see. The
people must decide.

Before Curtis could ask what was meant by that
extraordinary remark, there came a knock and the
door swung open. Turning, he saw Ed.

We're all ready, father. Shall I push you down?

Ready? Tanner echoed in a querulous tone.
For what?

You are to meet the people, Renshaw said,
returning his pistol to its drawer. Since its nei-
ther snowing nor raining, they have assembled in
the playground. There will be torches to see by. I
trust you have no objection.

TALION 75
On the contrary! Setting his shoulders back,

Curtis climbed to his feet. Its a chance I welcome!

T regret I don't feel up to the strain of accompa-
nying you, Renshaw went on with a sidelong
glance at Ed. I was severely radiated while tend-
ing the refugees, you see. More and more my son
has had to take over. I hope you won't feel slighted
if I remain here.

Don't trust him! Smith barked. This cowards
hideout reeks of trickery! It makes my skin crawl!

Curtis ignored him. To Renshaw he said with
awkward deference, I really meant itsirwhen
I said I admire your achievements. Particularly
since ... He mistrusted the next words that sprang
to his tongue, but Renshaw divined them.

You were perhaps going to say: since its been
done by cooperation, not compulsion? I suspect
you've based your work in recovery and recon-
struction on the threat of force: am I right?

Well .. . Curtis licked his lips, finding his mouth
as dry as . Tanners sounded. Well, a nucleus of
disciplined organization"

T see. Do as youre told, or I'll kill you! Well,
thats never been my way. But one thing I beg you
to remember, Mr. Curtisbeg you! Abruptly his
tone was fierce.

TI came here late, and what little Ive been able
to accomplish has been done in a short time and
under terrible difficulties, whereas what you and
your kind did has been going on for centuries.
Don't blame me for other people's failings, though
heaven knows I have plenty of my own!

Elbows on the desk, he dropped his face in his
hands and finished in a muffled tone, I said Im
not the leader of these people, and thats true. No
more is Ed. We had to put up with the only terms

on which they'd let us settle here. Like I said,

76 Far Frontiers

they come of very ancient stock, and they've seen
too much deceit to put their trust in strangers
readily ...

No! All I know how to be is their servant!

Curtis remained staring at Renshaw for a long
time before he was distracted by a glare of yellow
light. Still carrying his rifle, Mervyn had come to
join Ed, and behind him, each with a flaring torch,
stood two more men, alike enough for brothers,
with full black beards, red cheeks and heavy can-
vas aprons, looking like blacksmiths fresh from
the forge.

It had been in Curtiss mind to ask about food,
drink, and beds for the night, but something in the
bearded mens faces made his heart quail. With
what spirit he could muster he approached the
door.

Smith caught his arm.

For God's sake, are you out of your mind? You're
a bloody minister, aren't you? Order em to fix the
plane and let us go! He swung to face Renshaw.
You! Tell em to put our radio back so we can
contact our base! Or itll be the worse for you!

Renshaw did not react. After a moment Ed an-
swered for him.

Apparently you weren't listening. He doesn't
tell any of us what to do. Thats up to the individ-
ual to decide.

Now see here, you snivelling pup! Smith began,
and clubbed a fist.

Balanced on his crutch, Ed looked down at the
fist, then up at Smith's face.

He said evenly, Okay, go ahead. Ive always
imagined that the sort of man who could drop a
nuclear bomb could hit a cripple.

Smith hesitated. After a moment, seeming

TALION 77

ashamed, he drew back. He said, as though the
point had just struck him, How did you get like
that, anyhow?

Ed gave his one-sided shrug and turned to the
door. Over his shoulder he said, Ancient history.
Come on.

The way he got like that, said one of the black-
bearded men harshly, was dragging a kid out of a
wrecked house. A burning beam fell on them. We
lost the kid but we got him backjust. Satisfied?

Smith shook his head, as though stunned by
that same beam, and started off in Eds wake.
Tanner followed like a puppet on strings, and then,
with a last puzzled look at Renshaw, so did Curtis.

More flaring torches on poles marked their desti-
nation in the old school playground. As before, Ed
set a brisk pace despite his crutch. This time,
though, to Curtiss astonishment, Smith kept level
with the cripple and cast glance after sidelong
glance at him, as though winding up to say some-
thing. He found the right words just before they
drew abreast of the playground gate.

Hey, whatever your name isEd! I keep think-
ing I've seen you before!

Ed nodded. Very likely. Weren't you based at
RAF Paulton Vale, about twenty miles from Ox-
ford?

Yes, I was! Smith tensed.

While I was up at the Varsity I went on an
all-night disarmament vigil at the gates of your
station. Coming back from the pub, you and a
couple of your chums pelted us with beer-bottles,
and scored a lot of hits. We tried catching some in
the hope they might be full. No such luck, Im
afraid ... Well, here we are.

He gestured with his crutch, and at the same

78 Far Frontiers

moment the torch-bearers hoisted their flares aloft,
dispelling the unseasonable dark. Curtis caught
his breath. It had been so long since he saw so
many people gathered in the open air, other than
casualties

But here, he forced himself to remember, that
word wasn't used.

Shapeless as fungi in what clothing they had
salvaged, but with their faces visible in the flicker-
ing glow, the entire population of the town ap-
peared to be present, down to babes in arms.
Unsurprisingly, there were no very old folk, the
likeliest victims of radiation-sickness (and Curtis
re-heard in memory what Renshaw had said about
killing ...), though many were leaning on sticks
and sucking bare gums. What struck him most
about them, however, was their utter stillness. He
did not even hear a foot shift on gravel, let alone a
child's cry.

There was a medieval feeling about this assembly,
he realized, what with blacksmithshe glanced at
their escortsplough-hands, butchers, most likely
shepherds and carpenters and masons, all in basic
trades ... Miners too? No doubt. But winning coal
now only for the local folk, no longer wage-slaves
to a distant and anonymous master, be that a
land-owner or the State. A shiver stole down his
spine, as though the thought portended something
ominious. What Renshaw had said about the vicar
haunted him: to have deliberately driven a man of
the cloth out of their shared refuge, leaving him to
heaven only knew what fate ...

Over here, please, Ed said urbanely.

The playground seesaw had been propped at
either end to form a bench. Having seen them
seated on it, the cripple hopped nimbly up on the
nearby roundabout and called out.

TALION 79

You all know whats happened, dont you? We
have visitors from the Emergency Government!
Here's Mr. Reginald Curtis, and hes the Minister
of National Recovery!

He glanced down. Mr. Curtis, say something,
please, so they can recognize your voice. There are
several people here who cant see you because they
were looking towards the Trawsfynydd bomb. Tests
at Johnston Island in 1958 showed that burns could
be sustained on the retina as far as 345 statute
miles from the explosion. Sorry. Im forever quot-
ing my fathers books. He gave his usual twisted
smile.

Sick, but not daring to flare up despite such
needling, Curtis rose. Here was something he had
always hated ever since he entered politics, the
chore of addressing a working-class crowd. His
natural accent was easy to parody, as had been
proved by countless radio comedians. His home
constituency had been mainly residential and domi-
nated by the upper middle class, so he was ac-
cepted there. However, when it came to speaking
in support of a colleague in another area...

But this was now and that was then. Distinc-
tions of the old kind must be got rid of. Did he
dare say we're all in the same boat?

My friends! he began, and paused to let that
greeting register. Ive been here only a few hours,
and Im more impressed than I can say with your
success in getting back to normal life in face of
appalling difficulties. I think its bloody marvellous,
I really do.

And sat down, sweating of a sudden despite the
chill.

Also we have Mr. Smith, a pilot, Ed announced,
and added under his breath, Excuse me for not
mentioning your rank.

80 Far Frontiers

Smith glowered, folded his arms, stretched out
his booted legs and faked a yawn.

And Mr. Tanner, the ministers assistant, Ed
concluded. I won't call on them to speak because
Im sure most of your questions will be addressed
to the minister, right?

There was a grumbling sound in agreement, and
abruptly, despite the muzziness that second pill
had created in his brain, Curtis realized what was
going on. This wasnt just a town meeting. This
was to be an interrogation.

This was a trial...

Pain blazed up from his stomach, ran through
his limbs, exploded dazzlingly behind his eyes so
that for a second he could not see.

Oh, my God! he whispered. Justice is blind!
What? Smith, scowling, glanced at him. Can't

you hurry them up with this farce, sir?

He said Sir, and he never says that unless hes
scared ... Why here, why now? This is a stupid
man! He could never have the insight I just had,
which is truly fearful!

But Smith was going on, offering a very real
reason to be afraid.

If we don't signal base, they'll assume we've
been captured by invading forces! They'll order a
search-and-destroy mission, and Ive seen what
those can do!

Oh. They very well might, being rendered paranoid
by the universality of affliction. And one can't just
mislay a cabinet minister, even now

But in the front row of the small crowd a woman
was standing forth, who looked elderly and might
not be, who looked blind and definitely was.
Querulous, her voice was nonetheless loud, and
rasped at Curtis's nerves.

TALION 81

want the minister to tell me And a gasp
for breath, racking in her throat. I want him to
tell me what became of my sister as lived over to
Reading. Thats all I want. Just let him tell me
that.

Curtis struggled to think of a reply, against an
intolerable burden of pain. He said at last, Well,
Im afraid more than one bomb was dropped in
that area, so I dont really know what happened to
your sister.

Yes, you do matter-of-factly.

T don't quite follow ... Forcing a smile that
felt from inside as naked as the grin of a skull.

Yes, you do!not from the might-be-old woman
now, but shrilly from a teenage boy at her side:
her son...? Yes! You know damned well what
happened to my auntie! If she was lucky her house
fell down and killed her quick. If she wasnt, she
was burned alive in it, or got radiation-sick so her
hair and teeth fell out and her guts rotted and she
died slow. Or she starved, or she caught a fever, or
else she froze to death. Ah, you know that!

A kind of sad triumph showed in the womans
face, and those around her uttered soft agreement.

How much of this do we have to put up with
before they offer us a meal and a bed? whispered
Tanner.

A lot more, Im afraid, Curtis said resignedly.
But Tll do my best to talk us through it ...
Yes?to a stolid-looking man leaning with one
arm against the childrens slide and the other ten-
tatively raised.

Invited to speak, he suddenly coughed, and made
two false starts before he forced his question out.

Cousins of ours emigrated to New Zealand. And
there are others here with kinfolk in Australia.

Again a struggle for breath; then, valiantly:

82 Far Frontiers

When can we look forward to help from Down
Under, including food?

Yes! Yes!from half a dozen throats, and some-
one else said clearly, That's what I'd like to know,
too!

You'll have to answer, Mr. Curtis, Ed mur-
mured, leaning close. How about the rest of the
world? Its been some while since we saw the TV
news, you know.

Bastards, traitors, sons of bitches Words such
as Smith might have uttered echoed in Curtiss
head. Mocking me, hitting me when I'm down! And
all the time this blasted pain making me so giddy .. .
or the pills ...

His old reflexes, however, took command, and
he heard himself say with the properly regretful
inflection, Well, we are hoping for aid from Aus-
tralia and New Zealand, and naturally now we
know about your community we'll make sure to
divert part of what we get to you, though we can't
predict when it will arrive because of course they
have problems of their own thanks to the Chinese,
and

He broke off before he started to ramble. Why
burden people like this with so much of the bitter
truth about the ruins that the last bulwarks of the
Old Commonwealth had fallen into? He was here
to encourage, not depress them.

Were there any more questions? He peered about
him in the flickering torchlight, and abruptly no-
ticed that the little crowd was parting down its
center, to let pass with deference a man he had not
seen before. Elderly, of middle height, as shabbily
clad as his companions, there was little remark-
able about his appearance save that his beard was
very long and very white. He walked with a
stickto lean on, Curtis assumed at first; then

TALION 83

realized abruptly: he, like so many of the rest, was
blind.

That's Dewi Price, Ed whispered. His family
has farmed hereabouts for more than four hun-
dred years. Rumor has it that they came of bardic
stock. At any rate he has the hwyl.

What does that mean? Curtis mumbled. He
was beginning to feel that todays flight had borne
him not just across a landscape once familiar, now
grown alien, but to a different century as well.
Now, to baffle him still further, the language too
was becoming foreign.

You'll find out, Ed promised, and withdrew.
Guided by one of the black-bearded brothers,
while the other followed, Price took station di-

rectly confronting Curtis. Planting his stick before
him, he leaned forward on it, hand above hand.

Blind I may be, he said in a high, penetrating
voice. Deaf I am not, thank the Lord. I heard
young Ed say we had been here four hundred years,
but thats only as long as we've held written title
to the land. Say a thousand and you still might
miss the mark. More likely, we were driven hither
by the Romans. And we lived. Through the age of
hunting and the age of herding and the age of
mining it has been our land. Through fat years
and lean years, through rain and drought and health
and plague, it has been our fathers land, their
fathers, and then ours. And now at last it has been
raped and robbed from us, with subtle poisons
that will not decay for years.

As he spoke, his sightless gaze bored into Curtis's
face and his words took on the character of a
lilting chant. The minister summoned his scat-
tered wits at last.

Who's thissome fanatical lay preacher who's

84 Far Frontiers

found a role as local spokesman? Ive met that type
at election meetings. Why do they always spell trouble?

While he was still struggling to decide whether
this was actually a question, Smith spoke up
unexpectedly.

We gave as good as we got, you knowif not
more!

Feeling as though stones were about to be hurled
at him, Curtis closed his eyes. When he dared to
reopen them, he was amazed to discover that no
one had moved.

Except Price. Now he stood upright, shoulders
back, his stick held in both gloved hands and canted
across his body like a rifle at the port.

We do not haff to be told that! And he tight-
ened his grip on the stick as though to twist it
until it snapped.

We do not haff to be told there was a war! We
do not haff to be told how millions died, and land
was spoiled and cattle sickened from the tainted
grass, along with sheep and pigs and birds and
bees! The sun itself was stolen from us! My blind
mans bones could measure your abominations by
the lack of summer!

He raised his stick head-high in his right hand,
and there was a sort of settling among the on-
lookers, as though they were watching a fixed and
ancient ritual, and some key stage had just been
properly attained.

What you must tell us, you who call yourself a
Minister, is this!"and his voice dropped, from a
pitch that might carry for miles across a mountain
valley, to a deep and thrilling boom such as could
once have made the rafters of a Great Hall ring ...

or the dank recesses of a cave.
Who started it?

TALION 85

Curtis felt as though he were running headlong
through dense fog, fleeing nameless horrors, striv-
ing to recall the pattern of the one safe path. What
answer could he offer? Was he to recount how
wheat and rice harvests suddenly failed all over
Russia and Asia, so the scythe of famine cut down
victims by the million, and a wave of desperate
survivors welled out in all directions, including
across the East-West border? Scarcely, for at that
stage there had still been normal news; this must
be known to everybody. On the other hand, people
like Renshaw, or Price, or others here, might have
been convinced by all those propaganda claims to
the effect that blights had been deliberately spread,
to win a war without beginning one. Even among
the loyal handful left at Corsham there remained
suspicions, because the Western powers had re-
fused to send relief although its stocks of food
were such that governments were paying farmers
not to plough their land...

In the wan torchlight the faces of the people
showed like gravestones, each the memorial to an
infinity of lost hopes.

Curtis heard himself starting to babble.

You have to remember we were faced with
overwhelming odds! It was more like a massacre
than warfare, and the defenders were being rolled
up like a carpet! Besides

It was useless. Price was moving his stick back
and forth in the air, like a magicians wand wiping
away the echo of futile words.

We seek the truth, he said, his tone reverting
to the conversational as though he were conscious
of having performed the rite required of him and
cast the proper, necessary spell. You know it. You
must, or else you're lying about who you are. Tell
us who was the first to use The Bomb!

86 Far Frontiers

The crowd edged, as one, ever so slightly nearer,
and a score of hands caught the faint light as they
were cupped to deafened ears.

But while Curtis was still floundering, Smith
burst out again.

Even a bunch of peasants like you ought to
know the facts by now! Mr. Curtis is rightthere
was a bloody massacre going on! We had to use
our tactical weapons! Had to! Or else the Four-
teenth Soviet Armored Division would have bust
clear through between Bremen and Wesermtiinde
before our forces could fall back on the Ems!

Oh, Smith. You fool. You fool. You goddamned
fool...

For a moment Curtis was afraid the audience
would become a mob and tear them limb from

limb. Yet when he looked about himat Ed, and
particularly at the keloid that had formed along
his jaw; at the blind woman who probably wasn't
old; at her son; at Dewi Price who said his fore-
bears had lived here since Roman timeshe saw
no faintest sign of a reaction.

He was about to heave a sigh of relief when
Price spoke anew. Then he realized why.

And you were a member of the government
that authorized that. How did you earn your
position?

Oh, Christ. The reason they didnt respond to
Smiths admission was because they didnt need to
ask. They knew already ... And Renshaw said they
killed their vicar!

He swayed on the child-narrow board of the
seesaw, only vaguely feeling Tanners hand offered
in support, only distantly hearing Tanners voice
another damned fool! I'm cursed and plagued with
them!explain to the crowd the story of his career,
his qualifications, his right to rule.

As though that had anything to do with it...

TALION 87

Silence returned when the recital ended. It was
broken this time by one of the black-bearded smiths.
Smith: smith. Funny! Curtis wanted to laugh, but
there was too much pain at the pit of his stomach.

The man said stonily, So you knew what it was
going to be like, and you didnt warn us.

Nobody could be sure what it was going to be
like, Curtis wheezed. I assure you there was no
intention to mislead. If you look at the record

The records been burned up. And you didnt
just mislead us. You cheated and you lied. We
found that out in the end. Ed here nowI recol-
lect him before the war, and his father, always
talking about what would happen.

Me, I used to laugh at him. I said along with
the rest of us, Ah, if it were like you say the
government would let us know. And have they? So
it can't be as bad as you make out! But it was!
Rot your soul in hell, it was a thousand times
worse!

Once, a long time ago, at a public meeting, some-
one like enough to Price to have been Price had
risen with a similar charge, and Curtis had offered
a facile answer about being accused of warmonger-
ing if they prepared the population with an inten-
sive publicity campaign. He thought of quoting
himself, and decided it wasnt worth the effort.

Something had happened by the time he reached
that conclusion, though. A murmur of agreement
seemed to have passed among the crowd. There
was a shifting. Mothers with small children were
heading for the gate. Mervyn had been standing
apart with his gun at his side, butt on the ground;
now he caught it up and held it alertly across his
body, exactly as Price had held his stick.

88 Far Frontiers

Not noticing, Smith gave a snort and rose, wip-
ing his face with the back of his glove. What a
bloody performance! he muttered. I expected
some sensible questions, like about what we can
do for them. I bet we'd have got there if you hadn't
said it was us that lit the fuse!

Did I? I thought it was you who put the fact into
so many words ... But why argue when its too late?

Well, we did, Curtis grunted. And you can't
say we weren't expecting what followed. Maybe
you didnt get to read the umpires reports from
our joint maneuvers with the NATO forces, but I
did. He felt very tired, and the griping from his
ulcer was coming in rapid waves. BesidesWhat
is it, Tanner?

His aide had uttered a wordless cry and pointed
across the playground, towards the high iron frame
from which the swings depended. The smiths were
reaching up to unhook the ropes one by one. An-
other man stood by with ropes of a different kind.

So it was a trial, Curtis whispered. And they
found us guilty.

What? Smith burst out, clenching his fists. A
second later the truth dawned, and he rounded
wildly on Curtis.

You're crazy! I said you were leading us into a
trap, and you were! Now you can damned well
talk us out of it! Come on, tell em what'll happen
if they do this to a cabinet minister! Dyou hear
me?

Their brief task complete, the black-bearded
brothers returned towards the seesaw: large men,
with muscles accustomed to heavy weights.

Curtis! Smith raged. This is what that smooth-
tongued treacherous devil Renshaw really stands
for! Heres the truth behind his prating about peace!
Aren't I right?

TALION 89

When Curtis failed to reply, he spun on his heel.

All right, you bastards! he shouted. Come
and get me! Im not one of your milk-and-water
pacifists! If you want to string me up you'll have
to catch me first, and I swear I'll see one of you in
hell when I arriveand maybe more!

What does he mean? whimpered Tanner. What
does he think theyre going to do?

Curtis guessed that he knew very well; that bar
which had held the swings echoed lynching scenes
aplenty from films and television. But he preferred
to disbelieve.

As for himself...

Suddenly there was noise. Fighting. Smith had
tried to run for the gate. It was futile, of course.
Curtis closed his eyes again. He could barely think
now, the pain plus the pills were so paralyzing,
but words did bubble to the surface of his mind:
words he wanted to speak aloud, only somehow
they wouldn't cross his tongue and reach his lips.

He wanted to say: Smith, you re wrong. All the
Smiths have always been wrong, and the Curtises
too. What you said just now, about what lies behind
Renshaw s wordsit isnt true. Oh, Im sure he knew
what was likely to happen and thats why he pre-
ferred to stay at home. But think of what he said as
we left him: All Ive accomplished was done in a
short time under terrible difficulties, whereas what
you and your kind did has gone on for centuries.

That's true, Smith-so-proud-of-giving-as-good-as-
he-got, Smith-pot-calling-kettle-black, Smith-see-you-
in-hell-first. It was done at leisure over generations,
and in the end we made them proud that they too
could slaughter people by the millions. Look at me,
everybody! I can make babies come deformed, same
as you can!

And now theyve realized the consequences, and

90 Far Frontiers

since they're ordinary decent people they're ashamed.
Worse, they're angry. And they only know one way to
set things right: the way we've taught them all their
lives.

When they came for him, Curtis kept his eyes
closed. He kept them shut even when the rough
noose coiled around his neck and he heard the
order given to jerk him off his feet and let him
hang.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

PETROGYPSIES

by
Rory Harper

Several years ago I was invited to a conference
with the NASA Administrator. Marvin Minsky, one
of the founders of MITs Artificial Intelligence
Laboratory, was visiting at the time, and was to
be part of the conferenceindeed, hed arranged
my own invitation. The conference was to be held
near Monterey, California, which is a six-hour drive
from here; and since the conference site wasn't
near an airport, and we'd have to rent a car once
in Monterey, it seemed reasonable to drive.

In recent years they ve completed Highway 101
which runs down the western part of California;
but for many years there was a long stretch of 101
only one lane wide. The alternative in those days
was Highway 99, a long boring route through Bak-
ersfield and up the San Joaquin Valley. Neither
route was very appealing, so I found another which
led along the base of the Temblor Range. More to
the point, my route went through the oilfields
around Taft, California, and one of the sights along
the route was an ancient wooden oil derrick: the
first well drilled in that field. Wonder of wonders,
it was still pumping a tiny trickle of thick sludge.

Minsky and I stopped to look at it. Marvin had
recently been given a contract to develop compu-
terized robotic aids for oil drilling, but he had
never seen an oil well. Just north of Taft we came
to another operating oil rig; this one was one of
the portable steel towers that have taken the place
of the picturesque wooden derricks. The drilling

91

92 Far Frontiers

crew were pulling the drill string out preparatory
to changing the drilling head. Marvin and I watched
for nearly an hour; its a fascinating process, with
each man in the crew doing a precise job at pre-
cisely the right time. If one of them misses a cue,
the others could get hurtbut the job isn't regular,
because sometimes it takes a little longer to un-
screw one of the pipes, or to stand the removed
pipe in its stack. It wouldn't be easy to computerize.

Ive since studied a little about oil drilling. It
turns out you can get an undergraduate degree in
drilling mud mixing, and the selection and use of
oil tools is a complex subject requiring a lot of
expertise and experience.

Rory Harper lives in Houston, Texas, home of
many oil millionaires; and its obvious that hes
done some study of oil drilling. Its a little hard to
pin down just when and where this story takes

place; my guess is that it happens after a not very
devastating nuclear war, or perhaps a plague.
Whenever it is, its obvious there have been some
amazing advances in molecular genetic biology. . . .

I glanced up from a shovel full of pig slop just as
the Driller made the corner down by the dried-up
bed of Hanson's Creek.

The sun was about half set, so at first all I could
make out was a long dark something churning up a
cloud of red-dirt dust. It was wide as the road and
then some. And longthe front of the Driller must
have been more than a hundred feet past the curve
before the cloud at the end trailed off and blew
away. I never saw nothing like it in my life before.

I yelled out. By the time it drew up down at the
cattleguard, all eight of us, Papa and Grampaw
and us four kids, plus two dogs, were clustered in
front of the porch steps with three squirrel guns, a
deer rifle, a hayfork, and a slop shovel pointed in
its general direction. It stopped at the cattleguard
and the dust started to settle. The lower flanks were
streaked red and gray from travel, but the rest of
it was black as a moonless night, only all slick and
shiny like the intestines of a fresh-slaughtered bull.
Hundreds of stumpy feet marched in place all the
way down its length. I had a thought that shooting
it probably wouldnt do much more than tee it off
if it decided to come through the gate and eat us
and the farmhouse.

It stood quietly about forty feet away, with the
people getting more quiet and the dogs getting
more noisy every second, and then a head popped
out of a hole that opened in its top near the front.
The rest of a human body followed until a bearded
man was free from its innards. He slid down the
slope of its foot high flank and walked towards us.
He was wearing a gray jumpsuit with colored
patches sewed all over it. On his head perched a
battered silver-metal hat with a wide brim all the
way around.

Howdy, folks, he called out as he walked to-

94

PETROGYPSIES 95

ward us. Im Doc Miller. Thisd be the MacFarland
place, I take it. He tugged leather gloves off and
offered his hand for a shake as he drew near. He
was a big, strong-looking man. He came nearly up
to my chin height, and I suspected if we arm-
rassled, it'd be chore to put him down.

Papa nodded cautiously, handed me his gun,
and stuck out his own calloused hand.

Didn't mean to startle you folks. Pleasure to
meet y all. The man twitched his head back in the
direction of the road. Holes had opened up in half
a dozen places along the Drillers body and more
men were climbing out of them. We heard in
Hemphill that yall had been a little water-poor of

late and came by to see if you'd be interested in a
business proposition.

We hadn't seen rain for most of a month. We'd
been managing to haul in barely enough water for
man and beast, but the corn visible in the field
behind the house had already started to turn from
green and gold to brown and dead. Papa couldn't
have said he wasn't interested even if he'd wanted
to. Without water, and soon, this years harvest
would be ten acres of dry stalks. Last year hadn't
been much to speak of, and this one just might be
bad enough to run us off the land.

In the morning, Papa and the two youngest,
Danny and Greg, took the buckboard to town after
breakfast to see about getting a loan from the
Grange Bank to pay the gypsies and buy lumber
for the irrigation troughs. After I did my chores I
wandered over with Towser at my heels to where
the Driller squatted and watched while the gyp-
sies got ready. They'd made camp at the far end of
the pasture because the slope of the land was such

96 Far Frontiers

that it was the best place to start running an
irrigation system from.

Doc Miller stood on top of the head of the Driller
directing things. The pasture looked like the carni-
val had arrived. They'd pitched half a dozen tents
of various bright colors, and they fussed with piles
of strange equipment and odd-shaped boxes which
littered its shady side. Towser stayed close beside
me, every now and then growling half-heartedly. I
squatted off to the side for about five minutes
before I caught Doc's eye.

Hey, boy. We been running a little short-handed.
You want to help out a bit? Drillin is an exciting,
romantic business, and you might learn something. 

My name's Henry Lee, sir, and I'd be pleased to
help out.

Hey, Razer! he called out to one of the scurry-
ing men. You take over while I give Mr. Henry
Lee MacFarland a tour of Sprocket. He slid down
the Drillers side and led me along its length, slap-
ping it affectionately on the flanks as he went.

This here is Sprocket. There aint too many like
him. He stopped where a bunch of large and
small folds in its dark hide stretched for a dozen
feet or so. Oh, theres lots of them half-assed
water-well rigs wandering the countryside. They'll
go down a piddling five hundred or a thousand
feet. I'd be ashamed to be associated with one.

He rubbed an area about a foot above one of the
creases. The crease unfolded lazily and an eyeball
twice the size of my head poked out. It stared at us
for a long second, then slipped back under its
cover. Doc stooped and pulled at the blubbery
edge of a crease that ran knee high for eight or
nine feet. Ol Sprocket here aint even in the same
goddam species. He'll go down twenty thousand
feetthats four miles, Henry Lee. There ain't a

PETROGYPSIES 97

drilling rig in the world better than Sprocket at
finding oil and making hole down to it. The crease
split open and I took a step back. Towser had
stayed back a couple of dozen steps, watching
tensely. Hes a good squirrel dog, but this mon-
ster had him spooked. Had me a mite edgy, too.

As the crease widened into a huge black and red
pit and I took another quick step backwards, Tow-
ser broke into barking and making stiff-legged hops
back and forth. A slick, sticky-looking white tube
shot out of the pit and wrapped him up. It was so
quick, all I really saw was a glimpse of a struggling,
yelping blob half visible inside the tip before it
sucked back inside.

Doc immediately commenced to beating on the
creature with both fists. Dammit, Sprocket! Spit
that goddam dog out! You know better'n to act
like this!

After a second, the eyeball reappeared and blinked
at us twice. Doc picked up a crowbar laying in the
grass and started whupping on Sprocket with that.
He jumped aside when a hole appeared in the
crease right in front of him and Towser jetted out,
still yelping. He hit the grass running and kept
going.

Doc beat on Sprocket a couple more times be-
fore he threw the crowbar aside. Then he turned to
me, grinning. Hell of a drilling rig, Henry Lee,
but I cant say his humor is always in the best of
taste. So to speak.

Sprockets enormous mouth gaped open again
and he stepped up on its lip. Cmon. Let me show
you his guts. He saw me hesitate and grinned
again. Hell, dont worry. This ain't his eating
mouth. Its his drilling mouth. He pointed down
at his feet. See? No teeth. He stepped off the lip

98 Far Frontiers

and marched inside the monster. If he could do it,
so could I. The mouth closed behind us.

It wasn't dark for moren a second, because Doc
pulled open a curtain of flesh a couple of yards
further on. We stepped into a hallway almost twice
my height that must of stretched just about the
entire length of Sprocket. It was lit by lamps bolted
into living flesh at regular distances apart. The
walls were pink shot through with darker red veins
and they moved in and out slowly. A musky smell-
ing breeze shifted direction every few seconds.

As Doc led me down the hallway, he pointed out
holes and creases along the way. Now this here,
Henry Lee, is my bunk room. He pulled it open
and I looked over his shoulder. Inside was a small
round room holding a couple of chairs and a bed
with a lamp over it. Colorful tapestries covered
the walls and floor. A bulky wooden desk stood
next to a set of rungs leading to a hole in the
ceiling which let early morning sunlight in. Since
Im the tool pusher on this rig, I get the room
thats most forward. He closed it and walked on.

Most of the rooms front of the tongue base are
living areas. You know, bunkrooms, mess hall, head,
that sort of thing. Now here Wed reached the
tongue, a long white snaky tube that lay in a groove
in the center of the hall and gradually thickened
as it led back to a hump about thirty feet further
on. Here is Sprockets drilling tongue.

He peeled back white blubber from its tip and
exposed a gleaming black bone, with three ratchet-
edged pyramids angled off from its sharp point.
This is the drill-head and these here are Sprockets
drilling cones, he said, tapping one of the pyra-
mids. He twists em back and forth when hes
making hole. They bite into earth and rock and
chew it up. He let the blubber flop back over the

PETROGYPSIES 99

cones. I'd gotten over worrying about being eaten
alive and was starting to get interested in what he
was saying.

We walked further down the hallway. The tongue
got thicker, until it was higher than my head. At
its very rear, it disappeared into the floor. Beyond
it men hustled about, carrying things and calling
to each other. The tongue actually goes back al-
most all of the rest of Sprockets length under the
floor. It compresses when its not drilling, then
stretches out as far as its needed the deeper we
go. We're only going down to the aquifer on this
one. Won't give it any kind of workout at all.

Uhno offense, sir, but how come you're find-
ing water for us instead of being elsewhere drilling
for oil?

He leaned against the base of the tongue and
pulled makings out of a pocket on his shoulder.
Well, Henry Lee, we just finished doing a couple
of wildcat wells up north. He grinned humorlessly
as he shook tobacco out and rolled. They all come
up dry and the operator went broke before he paid
us. It damn near busted us. We're heading down to
a field opening up near Odessa. Looks like its
gonna be pretty rich. But a mans gotta eat along
the way. He licked the endpapers and struck a
phosphorus match off his hat. Probably drill a
dozen fast holes around here on farmsteads and
then move on.

A man at the far end of the hall yelled at us.
Hey, Doc! We're ready to spud whenever you
are.

Be right there, Razer. We walked down the
hallway and out Sprockets rear end. Doc made a
final check of everything. A hose led from one
crease to another and he yanked on it to make sure
it wouldn't come loose. Leads from his water

100 Far Frontiers

bladder to his mud bladder, he explained. Since
we re going so shallow we'll just use fresh water
for drilling fluid. Various machines and hoses
were hooked into other creases and he checked all
those.

Finally, we stood at Sprockets head. A dozen
men sat in folding chairs fiddling with various
instruments in their hands. Doc stuck his arm in
to the shoulder through a crease next to the mouth
and felt around for a few seconds. Pressures good,
Razer, he said to the man who'd called us and
now stood next to him. Lets get this show on the
road.

Four men pried open Sprockets mouth and
walked inside. A minute later, they emerged carry-
ing the tongue between them. Doc pried back the
tips cover for one last inspection of the cones,
then laid it on the ground.

I'd been so interested watching him that I'd
barely noticed the movements and sounds of the
men in the chairs.

Doc walked over to a crate in front of them and
handed me two carved sticks that were on it. Here
you go, Henry Lee. Time to work. They didn't
weigh much, and when I tapped them together
made a pleasant hollow sound. I felt like an idiot
standing there with them. What kind of work could
I do with a couple of sticks?

Doc picked up the crowbar that hed used ear-
lier to get Sprocket to spit out Towser, and com-
menced to beating on him again, this time in a
more rhythmical pattern. Time to get to work,
you lazy bastard! he yelled. We're ready and
you re ready and it ain't no use pretending you're
asleep. This time I was far enough back that I
could see it when both huge eyes opened and tried
to stare cross-eyed at Doc. Satisfied, he backed off,

PETROGYPSIES 101

reaching down to give the drilling tongue one last
caress.

Stokers ready? he called out to a couple of
men that stood next to a high pile of wood next to
another opening in Sprockets side.

Bet your ass, was the reply.

He pulled a foot and a half long wand from a
narrow pocket I hadn't noticed before that ran
down his right leg. Now, Henry Lee, Im depend-
ing on you to help us out with this. You just watch
my baton and hit those sticks together in time.

He raised the wand and took a deep breath. Ah
one and ah two and ah....

The men in the chairs started blowing and rub-
bing and pumping their instruments all together,
as his wand moved in graceful curves through the
air. I missed the first few beats, but after that I did
fine, the sticks mellow clear sound following
perfectly.

Oh, it was wild, blood-stirring music. That tongue
jerked erect for a minute and then plunged into
the earth, twisting and squirming. Sprockets eyes
squeezed shut, then popped open again. His sides
heaved gently and his hundreds of feet tramped in
rhythm with the gypsy music. The stokers off to
the side began to chant in a language I didn't
understand as they chunked logs into Sprockets
eating mouth.

We played for what seemed to be hours. I was in
another world.

We didnt make music all the while he was
drilling, of course, and I had work to do anyways.
Papa got back from Hemphill after lunch. The
Grange Bank had give us the loan, so we spent the
rest of the day sawing and hammering, making
irrigation troughs. Sprocket drilled close to five

102 Far Frontiers

hundred feet, going below the aquifer to leave a
reservoir of water in the bottom of the well. They
finished late that evening. I did get to watch after
supper when they snapped twenty-inch surface cas-
ing onto his tongue and set it in the hole, then
mixed and poured a dozen sacks of cement around
the wellhead to make sure it stayed in place. I
talked with Razer and Doc some while I helped
mix the concrete in a trough. They planned to
move on down the road to drill another water-well
the next day at the Brewster place. Back to slop-
ping pigs for me. I fell asleep listening to them
partying in the pasture.

The next morning I'd already finished the morn-
ing chores before any of them stirred. The tents
were still pitched where they'd been, but Sprocket
had wandered over toward the back of the pasture.

The dozen scraggly cows we owned gave him a
wide berth. Doc was slouched over a campfire
sipping from a battered tin cup when I walked up.
Hey there, Henry Lee, he called out. You old
enough to drink coffee?

Im nineteen last month, Doc. I can do what-
ever I damn well please.

He squinted up at me. Feeling kind of salty this
morning, ain't you?

I crouched and poured coffee into another tin
cup. Aw, I didnt mean nothing. I guess Im sorry
to see you going. Yesterday was fun.

Like I said, its a romantic, exciting way to
live.

Yeah. Looks like it beats dirt farming, anyway.

About that time the ground started to shake. A
thunderous pounding came from Sprockets direc-
tion. His hundreds of feet were stomping the back
of the pasture into mud.

PETROGYPSIES 103

Doc jumped to his feet, looking disgusted.
Damned fool!

What's he doing?

He threw the last third of his coffee into the fire.
Seismic testing. He shook his head. Yesterday
when we were drilling and he was marching in
place he got one baseline. Now hes going for the
other one.

I don't understand. Sprockets thumping speed-
ed up.

When he pounds the ground like that, it sends
sound waves through the earth. Sprocket hears
em when they slow down or speed up or reflect off
different geological formations. Two baselines gives
him a three-dimensional map of whats down there.
The damned idiots looking for hydrocarbons. Aint
no oil for two hundred miles in any direction.

Sprocket abruptly stopped and ambled back in
our direction. The men had all woken and stuck
their heads out of their tents cursing and groaning
sleepily.

Well, at least that foolishness is over, Doc
grunted as he picked up the pot to pour himself
another cup. Sprocket reached us in a minute and
towered over us silently. Doc stared at his protrud-
ing, rapidly rotating eyeballs.

Sprockets tongue shot out of his mouth and
began to drill furiously not three feet from me.

Doc threw his coffee into the fire again.

Papa didnt approve of the whole thing, but his
eyes bugged out nearly as far as Sprockets when
the company man for Exoco came around and
showed him the numbers wrote down on the roy-
alty contracts he offered. If the gypsies hit a good
pocket of oil or natural gas, the first in an entirely
undeveloped field, Papa and Exoco would get rich

104 Far Frontiers

beyond any human cravings. Exoco would finance
the drilling costs and get the biggest share. The
drilling gypsies would make out, too, but not nearly
as much.

Doc just shrugged when we talked about the
deal. Exocos putting up some serious explora-
tion money on this, Henry Lee. And we're drilling
on property that your Daddy owns the mineral
rights of.

Yeah, but none of this wouldn't be happening
without you and Sprocket! It isnt fair!

He shrugged again. You been around the oil-
patch a little longer, youd understand the econom-
ics of the situation. It dont matter a hell of a lot;
anyway. We ain't in this for the money, much as I
hate to admit it. Its the excitement and romance,
son.

I thought the carnival had come to town when
Sprocket first arrived. I was wrong. Within a week,
the whole pasture was covered with strange beasts
and strange equipment and even stranger people.
The mud gypsies, the casing gypsies, the tool
gypsies, the cement gypsies, and moreall con-
verged on the MacFarland farmstead out of no-
where, all accompanied by one or more beasties
that did something vital to the drilling of an ex-
ploratory well. In between chores and building
and placing the irrigation troughs that led from
the water-well to the cornfields, I usually only got
loose after supper. I wandered among the tents
and lean-tos they erected, breathing in the amaz-
ing sounds and smells and sights the gypsies
brought with them.

The Exoco company man shouted and strutted
about the camp like a little dictator. I started to
understand why nobody knocked him upside the
head for acting as obnoxious as he did when I

PETROGYPSIES 105

realized that his company was footing the bill for
everything and everybody in the pasture. Doc told
him to go suck on sour gas, though, when he once
made a suggestion about how to handle Sprocket.

Sprocket drilled twenty-four hours a day, his
sides heaving with the effort. Illuminated at night
by the light-poles set up all along his length, the
stokers fed him continuously the first week. Then
the first of a series of bloated brown tankers showed
up on the scene and hooked up to him. I was there
when Doc himself stuck the hose firmly into
Sprockets eating mouth and we stood back as he
began to suck on it like a calf at the teat.

Ol Sprocketll eat just about anything, Henry
Lee, he said with pride, But what he loves sec-
ond best is that refined, high-octane, lead-free, pure
sweet gasoline.

What's he like best?

He grinned evil-like. Fresh dogmeat. I hadn't
seen Towser since the day Sprocket almost ate
him.

Just funnin, Doc said before I could ask the
awful question. What he likes best of all, of course,
is heavy crude. Oughta see the way he gets to
shaking and shimmying and moaning when he
hits a producible formation. You dont think hes
workin himself into a lather just because we play
pretty music for him, do you? Thats just how we
sweet-talk him into doing favors for us, like drill-
ing your little water-well or trying out a wildcat
some damn fool has a religious faith in, but hes in
the business strictly to fill his belly with petroleum.

And, he added, For the romance and excite-
ment of it all.

Eight nights after Sprocket started drilling, I
snuck away from the house after bedtime. Papa

106 Far Frontiers

hadnt come right out and told us younguns to
stay away from them, but his mind was easy enough
to see. I guess the rest of them was born to farm,
but Id lay in bed after breaking my back in the
damned, boring-to-death fields, and hear pagan
music, and the hum of many voices, and the
whining, trembling noise Sprocket made in his
search for the thing he loved best and I'd want to
cry for some reason.

Doc was talking to a couple of casing gypsies
when he spotted me coming. They stood in a half
circle in front of Sprocket, who was surrounded by
half a dozen other oversized beasts. Doc didn't
seem too surprised to see me. Howdy, Henry Lee.
Just couldnt stand it any longer, could you?

Sir?

T recognized the symptoms the first day, son.
Not too hard to do. I got em myself about your
age. Still got 'em.

There wasn't nothing I could say to him.

He turned to the casing gypsies. The reason I
knew they were casing gypsies is they were all
women. Casing gypsies always were. They wore
dark green jumpsuits, but theirs fit a whole lot
better than the mens. Over the next few weeks
Doc told me stories about the wild ways of casing
gypsies that I not only didnt believe, but, due to
my lack of experience, couldnt even understand
half the time.

He spoke to the dark-haired woman that must
have been their crew chief. Ramonita, we re gonna
be ready to start snapping on that twenty-six hun-
dred feet of twenty inch surface pipe in less than
an hour. Big Red's hooked up and ready to cement.
How come I dont see your pipe here?

She swayed a few steps forward and tapped his
chest with a black-tipped finger. Because, she

PETROGYPSIES 107

purred, your half-smart segundo, Razer, moved
Big Red's pumper and his bulk cement holder onto
location ahead of time. Theyre blocking us out, as
usual. They're asleep, as usual.

Her purr deepened into a snarl. And its your
goddam job to straighten it out, not mine. We've
been ready since this afternoon.

About that time, I wandered off, too embarrassed
to listen to the rest of the conversation.

Ramonita was actually pretty nice once you got
to know her. That night I helped her and her cas-
ing crew to snap on the surface casing. Sprocket
pulled his tongue out of the hole for it. Each joint
of casing was a twenty foot tube of dark ceramic
that their beast excreted and they baked until it
hardened properly. It unfolded in half lengthwise.
They placed the first joint right behind his drill-
head, so that his tongue rested on a double trough,
then snapped it closed around the tongue and sealed
the seams with a special glue. Then they hoisted
the rear end of the casing vertical into the air with
a sling hung from a tripod scaffolding they'd
erected, and fed the first joint most of the way into
the hole. The end of the length of pipe tapered in,
then flared out again. The next joints front end
snapped right over that nipple, and so on.

After a few hours of lifting and snapping casing,
I guess I should have been tired, but I wasn't. We
worked to the rhythm of the music made by gyp-
sies from half a dozen specialties, and it made that
casing feel light as goose feathers.

When we were done I collapsed into a chair and
watched Ramonita and her girls dance to the mu-
sic while Big Red pumped cement down the inside
of the casing and out the bottom and back up the
outside into the annulus between the casing and

108 Far Frontiers

the hole, bonding it in place. Doc strolled over
with a cup and a plate heaped with sausage and
thick pieces of bread.

Here you go, Henry Lee. Oilpatch work may
feed the soul, but every now and then you gotta
feed the body, too.

I took a big bite of the sausage and it felt like my
mouth had caught on fire, so I took a deep swig
from the cup and the flames leaped higher.

You've killed me, I finally managed to choke
out. What is this stuff?

Just boudain and a little heart-starter, Henry
Lee. Good stuff.

I took small bites of everything that was offered
to me afterwards. That heart-starter kinda growed
on you after a while, though.

I didnt get much sleep the next three weeks,
what with working all day in the fields and being
with the gypsies every night. I helped out on most
all of the beasties at one time or another, learning
how drilling mud was mixed and why, or helping
the tool gypsies dress and move their tools when
they were getting ready to run in the hole for a
squeeze job, or unpacking float shoes and collars
to attach to the bottoms of a string when they got
ready to run it in. All of them was real friendly,
answering all my dumb questions, and telling me
stories about the far places theyd been and the
wild things they'd seen and done.

But I kept coming back to Sprocket. The deeper
he got, the more he had to exert himself twisting
that long, talented tongue deep into the bowels of
the earth, clamping his mouth over the well-head
to fight downhole hydrostatic until they could
weight up the mud, whenever he hit a high-pressure
zone. I got to know him inside and out, literally.

PETROGYPSIES 109

Doc taught me how to care for him and keep him
clean and feel inside his guts to monitor his vital
signs so the stoking could speed up or slow down,
or they could play music to calm him or spur him
on.
They didnt need to spur him on much. He was
drilling like his life depended on it.

The proudest moment for me came one night
when we were down about ten thousand feet. We'd
just started in the hole to hang some eight and
five-eighths inch liner pipe off the bottom of a ten
and three-quarter inch long string. I was standing
at the well-head when it slipped a little. Displaced
mud gushed out of the hole, drenching me from
head to foot. The second pair of coveralls I'd ruined.
I only had one pair left.

When we finished up and I was kicked back
sipping on some heart-starter, Doc strolled up with
a cloth-wrapped package under one arm and a
silver-metal hardhat under the other and dumped
them at my feet.

T dont mind you getting underfoot ever now
and then, Henry Lee, he said. But I do mind you
doing it in them damned old messy coveralls.

I set down the cup with unsteady hands and
untied the string and shook open the package. In-
side were two gray patched jumpsuits and a pair of
steel-toed workboots.

Tf they dont fit, youre out of luck, he said.
They're the biggest sizes we got.

Thanks, Doc.

Ain't a present, he said gruffly. You earned
em.

Then he strode off shouting curses at Big Red for
not getting their cement down-hole fast enough. I
hid the clothes under my bed during the daytime
and wore them at night when I went to the gypsies.

110 Far Frontiers

Sixteen thousand feet, seventeen thousand feet,
eighteen thousand feet, and still no strike. Sprockets
hide began to lose its sheen and get wrinkled and
rough looking, but he drilled on, heaving and
panting. He sucked gasoline in vast quantities, forc-
ing his tongue through rock that grew harder and
hotter. The mud circulated up practically boiling
and we began to coat his tongue with special un-
guents when it came out of the hole, looking burned
and chafed.

The camp grew quieter when he passed twenty
thousand feet, his maximum rated depth. More
pressure, more heat, but no hydrocarbons.

I missed six nights while we got in the corn. The
weeks of no sleep finally caught up with me. I
simply couldn't anymore handle harvesting and

working all night, too. I worked like a zombie in
the fields all day, and couldnt bring myself to
visit the camp under Papas watchful eyes when
sunset neared. I collapsed into bed right after sup-
per each evening, sick as a dog, and slept without
dreams until Papa shook me awake at dawn. Being
sick dont matter when the crops got to come in.
When I saw Doc or one of the other gypsies I
waved at a distance, but they only waved back
and hurried about their business.

I came back the seventh night. They stood around
Sprocket in silent little groups, no music, no laugh-
ing and joking.

Sprocket had somehow shrivelled. His hide hung
in loose rolls along his length and every few min-
utes a painful wheeze streamed from around the
edges of his drilling mouth where hed mashed it
into the ground around his tongue. His head

PETROGYPSIES 111

twitched spastically and his eyes were squeezed
shut in agony.

Doc turned a dead face to me when I touched
him on the shoulder. Oh. Hello, Henry Lee.

He fumbled at his shoulder pocket and came out
with a tobacco bag. When he saw it was empty, he
let it drop. Sprockets down somewhere around
twenty-three thousand feet, he finally said. We
can't measure for sure, because hes refused to
stop drilling for three days. We've got twenty pound
mud in the hole and hes still having to fight the
bottom-hole hydrostatic. Hes had his mouth dug
in for a blowout preventer since noon.

I was frightened as much by the slurred, tone-
less way he spoke as by the meaning of his words.

Make him stop, Doc. The oil ain't worth it.

He won't stop, Henry Lee. We've played to him,
and talked to him, and shut off his gasoline, and
he just won't stop.

He reached out and rubbed Sprockets mottled
skin. Sometimes it happens this way. They just
go crazy and won't stop drilling. His hand dropped
to his side. Until they die.

We stood together not saying anything for a long
time. Finally I knew what I had to say, even if it
wasn t true.

You're wrong, Doc.

What?

T don't believe Sprockets gone crazy. You told
me hes the best Driller in the world for finding
and getting down to oil. Either you were wrong
then or you're wrong now. Sprockets going for the
deepest, biggest reservoir thats ever been found.

His big hands clenched, but I guessed angry was
better than the way hed been before. You dont
know what you're saying, boy. You're just a typi-

112 Far Frontiers

cal worm. You run around here a couple of weeks
and you think you know it all. You

know one thing, Doc. Sprocket ain't in this
business to kill himself. Like you said, hes in it for
the petroleum! I was shouting now, leaning right
into his face, mad as hell for no reason I could say.
And for the romance and excitement, too, you son
of a bitch!

I turned around and started yelling at the other
gypsies. Whats the matter with you people? Did
you come here to find oil or not? How come you re
standing around like a bunch of I tried to think
of the worst thing I could call them and found it.
Like a bunch of dirt-farmers!

I rushed over to where the instruments lay in a
pile and started throwing them at dumbfounded
people. Play, goddam you! Sprockets doing his
part of the deal. Least you can do is give him some
music to work by if youre not gonna work your-
selves.

I ran out of words and stood glaring at them.
Nobody moved. There was silence except for
Sprockets harsh panting and mine. I whirled, with
a fist cocked to fly, at a scuffling noise behind me.
Doc had his wand in one hand and the rhythm
sticks in the other.

T do believe you may be right, Henry Lee. His
voice rose. Come on, people. It aint over till its
over! In a lower voice, Im damned if I'll hold

Sprockets funeral while hes still alive.

I helped them hook him back into the gasoline
tanker, and took turns massaging his heart muscle.
We played and danced all night. I dont know if
any of it did Sprocket any good. Along about day-
break I was sprawled against his side, right under-
neath an eye, beating my rhythm sticks together

PETROGYPSIES 113

drunkenly in time with his weakening gasps while
half a dozen gypsies kept up on their instruments.
The rest had fallen asleep where they stood or sat.
A long shadow fell across me and I looked up to
see Papas grim face above me.

He's dying, Papa, I said. He wants it so bad
nothing or nobody can stop him.

The familys in the fields finishing with the
harvest, son.

Not today, Papa. I'll be a farmer tomorrow, but
please not today.

Sprockets breathing stopped.

For a frozen second I sat there. Then I lurched
up, almost knocking Papa aside. Doc! Doc! Hes
not breathing.

Doc had fallen asleep in a chair, his baton slip-
ping from his fingers to lie in the dirt. I frantically
yanked him erect and dragged him to Sprocket.
Shaking his head to clear it, he inserted his arm
into a crease and felt around. Pressure down to
nothing, he muttered.

Finally, blessedly, I felt the tears streaming down
my face. Its over.

Then Sprockets body started to shimmy, quick
little waves travelling along his body. Doc jerked
his arm out as the first real convulsion hit.
Sprockets eyes popped open, nothing but the whites
showing. His body began to jerk and twist and
hunch, carrying dozens of his feet off the ground at
once.

Then a deep growling sound like a hurricane
grew in the air and Sprockets body began to tie
itself in knots as we all backed away.

Jesus, Son of God! Doc yelled. The wells
coming in on us!

I looked down at Sprockets mouth and saw it
grinding in the dirt, squeezed tightly around his

114 Far Frontiers

tongue, and knew Doc was right. In addition to the
normal bottom-hole pressure, Sprocket had drilled
into a real high-pressure formation and the up-
ward force was trying to blast everything out of
the hole. Sprocket was fighting it with his last
remaining strength.

The wrinkles in his hide disappeared as he
swelled up. Doc began to backpedal. He ain't
handling the kick! His bladders are filling with
mud coming up. Head for the tall grass! Blowout!
Blowout!

We all turned and ran like the devil was after us.
The gasoline tanker, which was the only beast
next to Sprocket, ripped loose, crashed through
the fence into the woods bordering the pasture,
and left a wake of shattered pine trees behind him.
The rest of the beasts took off in whatever direc-
tions they were already pointed in. In the midst of
the turmoil, I caught a glimpse of Papa high-
stepping his best. He was fresh from a nights
sleep, so he was just about leading the pack. He
didn't know what the hell was going on, but he
was willing to find out from a safe distance.

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Sprocket
bloated like an enormous black balloon. Then he
blew out. It looked and sounded like a tornado
erupted full-grown from the top of his head. A
stormy dark gusher fountained a hundred feet in
the air. I kept running. If it caught fire, Id be fried
to the bone in a second.

Finally, I fell face down between two furrows,
exhausted. It started to rain on my back and I
turned over. The rain was black. It was oil.

Fifteen minutes later, the gusher gradually grew
smaller, and finally sank back into the ground.
Cautiously, we slipped and scrambled among
drenched wreckage until we came to Sprocket.

PETROGYPSIES 115

Somehow, hed held on and finally shut it in. He
squirmed and wiggled happily in the middle of the
mess, a deep dynamo hum vibrating his entire
length.

Three mornings later the gypsies had washed off
and repaired their belongings as best they could.
The pasture and cornfields were covered with
petroleum, black, clumpy globs of it drying in the
summer sun. A welter of intersecting pipes and
valves called a Christmas Tree guarded the hole
that Sprocket had drilled. I stood on Sprockets
head and turned all the way around slowly. Papa
and Grampaw and my brothers clustered in front

of the farmhouse.

A trail of dust led down the road back to Hemphill
and places beyond, marking the departure of all of
the gypsies except Docs crew. Docs head popped
out of the hole beside me.

About time for us to go, Henry Lee, he said.

I slid down Sprockets side and walked slowly
toward my family. Behind me Sprockets legs
started to churn in place, limbering up for the
march ahead of him.

When I hugged him, Papa tried his best to smile,
because he loved me.

Sprockets drilling mouth opened instantly when
I tugged on it. We were halfway to the cattleguard
before I made it through Docs room and up his
ladder.

As we looked back and waved good-bye, Doc
said, Damned if I understand you, Henry Lee.
That wells gonna produce a whole lot of oil, and
its gonna be the only one around here, cause I
don't think anyone else is crazy enough to try to

116 Far Frontiers

get into a reservoir that deep. You could stay and
be one of the richest men in this state.

I dropped my hand and turned to face the road.
Money's fine for them that value it, Doc, but I'll
take the romance and excitement any day.

The future of America depends on

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EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

IRAS, Vega, and Intelligent Life in the Galaxy

by
Robert W. Bussard

I've long been known as a space enthusiast, and
several years ago I was invited to become a mem-
ber of the Board of the L-5 Society Promoting
Space Development. In those days the name was
shorter; it was just The L-5 Society, and the old
guard still refer to it that way. As the long form of
the name implies, the L-5 Society is a space
advocacy organization.

The short form is even more telling: the L-5
point, sometimes known as the fifth Lagrangian, is
the point in the Moons orbit 60 degrees behind
Luna. Objects placed in orbit at that point tend to
stay there. It was for some years thought that
wouid be a good place to put the first space colony.
The L-5 Society is definitely for space colonies,
hence the namealthough, alas, the L-5 point is
no longer considered the optimum place to build
one.

Space colonies are just that: artificial places to
live in space. The concept has been around for a
long time; the first mention I am aware of was by
the Russian astrodreamer Tsiolkovsky, who also said
Earth is the cradle of mankind, but we cannot
stay in the cradle forever. One of the first de-
tailed views of life in a space colony was Robert A.
Heinlein's Universe. An early nonfiction exami-
nation of the concept was written by Dandridge
Cole. The first engineering analysis of space colony
requirements was published by Princeton physics
professor Gerard O'Neill, which is why space colo-

118

EDITOR S INTRODUCTION TO: 119

nies are sometimes known as ONeill Colonies,
although it would be as appropriate to call them
Cole Colonies or even Tsiolkovsky Colonies.

Heinleins space colony was special: it wasn't
just a colony. If you have a self-sufficient space
colony and a means of propulsion, you have a star
ship. It will take many generations to cross the
vast distances between the stars, but given suffi-
cient sources of energy it ought to get there.
Heinlein's Universe was such a ship, which trav-
elled for so long that its inhabitants lost all record
of a time when they had lived on planets.

I have written elsewhere of mankind's hundred-
billion-year future; a future that is possible, but
only if we are able to survive the death of our Sun.
Space colonies are one key to that future; which is
why I have worked hard for the L-5 Society, and
once called L-5 the advance planning department
of the human race.

Alas, the politics of space advocacy are tricky
and varied, and can be vicious.

In late 1983 IRAS (Infra-Red Astronomical Satel-
lite) observed cold matter surrounding the star
Vega. As it happened, I was at that time preparing
the report of the fourth meeting of the Citizens
Advisory Council on National Space Policy. Dr.
Robert Bussard, inventor (possibly describer
would be a better term) of the Bussard interstellar
ramjet and former Director of Fusion Energy Re-
search at Los Alamos National Laboratory, is a
member of the Council; and we were in telephone
contact about his contribution when I read about
the IRAS discovery.

I asked Bob if he would do an article about
IRAS and cold matter for the L-5 News.

Sure. Technical on IRAS, or general and philo-
sophical about implications? he asked.

120 Far Frontiers

General. Connect the discovery to the rest of
the universe.

Right. Next week be okay?

I assured him he could take his time. In due
course the paper arrived and I sent it off to the L-5
News editor. I thought no more about it until
months later when I recalled I hadn't seen it. By
that time the L-5 Society was racked with an inter-
nal power struggle that seemed to involve me; I
solved my part of that by withdrawing from any
management of Society affairs. Alas, that didn't
really end the matter, and the article was rejected
by L-5, which is their loss.

In this article Dr. Bussard presents a theory of
the relationship of CroMagnon to Neanderthal man
that is not highly regarded by most paleobiologists,
and which I cannot myself accept. However, I find
that some experts with better credentials than mine

find his view possible if not convincing; and in any
case that particular sentence is not necessary to
the balance of Bussards argument. Bob offered to
excise it for the L-5 News; I thought it best to leave
the article intact.

Herewith Robert Bussard on the significance of
the IRAS discovery.

VEGA, AND
INTELLIGENT

GALAXY

Dr. Robert W. Bussard

President, Energy Resources Group, Inc.

The most generally accepted theory of planetary
formation is based on the idea, first put forward
by Kant and LaPlace, that cold gas, collected by
gravitational forces in star formation, led to a ro-
tating ellipsoidal-shaped gaseous nebula around
the proto star. This nebular pancake heated as it
contracted under gravity, speeded up as it con-
tracted, and formed planets by accretion around
mass/density concentrations found within the neb-
ular matter. The planets so formed would, of course,
be in Keplerian orbits around the star.

The planetary accretions nearest the star occur
in a nebular region of small volume and mass, and
at high temperatures relative to the volume and
mass available for sweeping out the colder, denser
matter at great distances. Because of this, the in-
nermost planets would be expected to be formed
from the condensation of materials with high va-
porization temperatures, such as rock and iron;
thus the terrestrial planets. Conversely, the out-
ermost planets would be formed by condensation
and collection of low boiling point materials, such

121

122 Far Frontiers

as methane, ammonia, hydrogen; thus the Jovian
planets. The whole process of planetary accretion
given the initial nebular conditionsis thought to
require only a few tens of thousands to a few
million years, once started.

Detailed analyses of this process have been car-
ried out on large computers (on models of star
formation) over a wide range of conditions be-
lieved plausible for starting the process. These stud-
ies all showed the formation of multiple terrestrial
planets near their stellar source, and multiple
Jovian planets further out, sometimes with one or
two Pluto-like planets still further, beyond the cold
giants. Thus it has been shown that planetary for-
mation is an almost automatic adjunct of stellar
formation on the neo-LaPlacian model. If so, the
key question as to the likelihood of other planets
(we know there are other stars!) would be, Is the
neo-LaPlacian model correct; does stellar-formation
really appear in this mode?

At last we have the beginnings of an answer,
from data obtained by the IRAS satellite. This
space observatory is built to detect infrared radia-
tion from radiating sources other than stars. It has
recently reported the observation of an extended
infrared-radiating mass of considerable extent sur-
rounding the star Vega. By all analysis this seems
to be a gaseous nebula ready for or in process of
planetary formation around Vega. Other such bod-
ies now seem probable. Of course, if the star is too
hot its nebular envelope will be too tenuous and
extended for planetary formation on the model of
our solar system, while if too cold its planets will
be formed small and close in. No matter; space is
filled with F, G, and K type stars (we are G-type)
of the general temperature range which allow for-
mation of Earth-type planets somewhere in the
nebular contraction/condensation process.

IRAS, VEGA, AND INTELLIGENT LIFE 123

What all this means is that we now have evi-
dence of the existence of conditions elsewhere for
the formation of planets around (nearly all) stars,
and thus reason to support speculation that the
galaxy is filled with planet-bearing stellar systems.
Taking 10'' stars as a reasonable estimate for the
stellar population of our galaxy, and o as the
fraction in the right spectral/temperature class
for life-of-our-type (LOOT), we estimate 10! plane-
tary systems as possible. Suppose only Yio of
these contain planets capable of supporting Earth-
type life; then there will be only(!) 10? planets
capable of supporting creatures like ourselves, or
LOOT.

The consequences of this now-nearly-validated
estimate are truly staggering. If, as generally agreed,
life evolved on Earth in ca. 10? years, Earth is ca.
4.6 x 10 years old, and our galaxy is 10-15 x 10
years old, then we Earthlings are very latecomers
in galactic history and are quite likely not alone.
In fact, a simple estimate suggests that at least 10
planets should be out there with our type of life
abounding; and most of these should contain intel-
ligent life far, far older than our own. For the size
of our galaxy this gives an average distance be-
tween intelligent species of our type of about 100
light years. Of course, the stellar/planetary density
is not uniform. It is concentrated towards the ga-
lactic center and lesser in the outer regions (where
we live, far out in the Ophiucius arm), so mean

inter-LOOT distances should vary accordingly.

' This apparent preoccupation with life-of-our-type or -as-
we-know-it is not an example of anthropocentricity. It is sim-
ply that it seems fruitless to speculate on the imagined infinite
array of life-form possibilities which we do not know and there-
fore can not assess.

124 Far Frontiers

If all this is soas the new IRAS evidence gives
us new reason to believethen where are they
and who are we? If they exist so thickly why do we
not see them? This famous question, first posed by
Enrico Fermi* can be answered only by several
possibilities: (1) The detailed genetic evolution of
LOOT is so improbable, even with Earth-like
conditions, that we are nearly the first in all the
galaxy, or; (2) Nearly all LOOT committed suicide
upon reaching a state of control of sufficient plane-
tary energy resources, so the LOOT lifetime is too
short to allow galactic exploration or; (3) Densely
populous LOOT exists, but chooses to conceal it-
self from us, or; (4) We are so far out in the galac-
tic countryside that no one has bothered to look
our way yet, or; (5) Interstellar transport is forever
impossible. Let us examine each possibility, in in-
verse turn.

(5) Interstellar transport cannot be forever im-
possible simply because even we (new-born and
illiterate on the galactic scale) already know how
to go about it. Whether by interstellar ramjets,
laser-driven sails, or anti-matter rockets (or their
ducted ramjet versions) we already have enough

physics andsoon*enough technology to make

starflight work; and we will go out as soon as we
can build the requisite machinery.

(4) It is not hard to find us, nor would it take
longif they are there we should have been found
long ago. Given star-flight by any of the above
means it is easy to show that the rate of expansion
into the galaxy from a LOOT source outbound for
exploration and colonization will be at a rate of

? In 1955, after a dinner party at then-Livermore Labs Director
Herb Yorks house in Livermore.
3 Within 100 years or so.

IRAS, VEGA, AND INTELLIGENT LIFE 125

about (c/1000). That is, the sphere of LOOT-occupied
planets will expand at about one-thousandth the
speed of light, once started. Thus reaching us, even
from the galactic center, would take only 10 years
at most; a time quite small compared to the galac-
tic age. We should have been found long, long ago.

(3) Many reasons have been proposed for the
unwillingness of an exploratory galactic coloniza-
tion to show itself to us. Would we attempt to
communicate with an island colony of destructive,
semideranged, and apparently suicidal baboons car-
rying laser guns and using nuclear weapons? Bet-
ter to let them find their own destiny. If they settle
down, stabilize, and find their way off their island
in peace, then we talk; otherwise, we watchand
guard. Or perhaps there has not been any conceal-
ment at all. Perhaps quite the opposite; perhaps
we are they. They landed here long ago by accident
or design, descended into savagery in the corrosive
atmosphere of Earth, which destroyed all ships,
equipment, and non-sustainable technology, and
became Cro-Magnon man, doing away with Earths
natural creature, Neanderthal. If so, our efforts at
spaceflight are only the long echo of a lost dream
of home.

(2) Will we succeed in going out into the galactic
darkness rich in new worlds suitable for us, or will
we die before we go? Perhaps the nature of aggres-
sive species which reach planetary dominance is
such that the energy sources they controlwhich
can make starflight possibleare used first among
themselves in a pattern of destruction so complete
that the race can never break out of its confining
solar system shell. The bomb over Hiroshima gave
us both the power to kill (nearly) all of ourselves
or to escape to the stars. Which will we do? This is
the preeminent issue of this most exciting of times.

126 Far Frontiers

Which did they do? Simple calculation shows that
the probability of surviving this condition must be
less than one part in a million, else the galaxy
must be densely populated, and we may well be
they. If so densely populated we should see them
again, with a high frequency of contact. But do we
(the UFOs?), or are they hiding (?), or did they all
self-destruct?

(1) Or, finally, are we truly alone; the first intelli-
gent species in the galaxy, the product of an im-
mensely improbable chain of hundreds of thousands
of sequentially coupled geological, chemical, bio-
chemical, biological, and parallel astronomical
events? Very simplistically, if 100 events of each
type each had 10 possible outcomes only one of
which was on the chain of success to life, the
probability of success through the end of the event
chain, over all the stars and the life of the galaxy
would be only 10? (1%). Ergo, we are the only
intelligent planetary-energy-dominating handiwork
of God in all the galaxy. But this is just a numbers
game, and we all know what those are! Much more
compelling is the data from our Mars and Venus
probes. Both planets seem nearly (but not quite)
able to support LOOT. They are each just a bit
beyond the one-sigma point for people like our-
selves. Thus we see within our own solar system a
probability far higher than any version of the
numbers game would give.

On balance it seems probable that life exists,
that LOOT is out there, and that we will find it (if
it does not signal us first) when we go out within
100 years or so. All we have to do is live without
global nuclear war for this time, ours and our
grandchildrens, and we will be savedfrom our-
selvesand will find again our fellows and our
new/old galactic homes.

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EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

A CURE FOR CROUP

by
Edward P. Hughes

Edward Hughes, communications engineer, lives
in Manchester, England. He has created a new
twist to the post-disaster story.

The disaster isnt completely spelled out. Cer-
tainly there has been a war; there appear to have
been environmental disasters as well. If so, they
must have been enormous, and acted in a synergy
of destruction with effects of the war. The Earth is,
after all, pretty big, and its not all that easy to
affect it permanently and globally. Any given hur-
ricane expends megatons of energy, while a large
volcanic explosion, such as Krakatoa, releases more
energy than all of mankind has been able to ex-
pend in war or peace.

This is not to say that we cannot, with ingenuity,
muck things up. Harrison Brown long ago showed
that if our civilization falls far enough, it will be
exceedingly difficult to rebuild. Social structures
are delicate. The late H. Beam Piper postulated
two different ways for planets to decivilize. If
we work at it, we can make the Earth hard to live
on. Hughes postulates that we did, and now must
live with the results.

In Hughes world everyone knows the magni-
tude of the disaster: but the inhabitants of Barley
Cross are determined that life shall be normal for
all that, no matter the cost. That cost has been
high. For as long as most remember, the town has
been dominated by the fortress known as The Fist,
outside which stands the tank brought in by Pat-

131

132 Far Frontiers

rick OMeara, onetime Sergeant of Her Majestys
forces, now Lord of Barley Cross and Master of the
Fist. OMeara was the founder and savior of the
town: and as such, exercised the rights of lordship,
including droits du seigneurthe rights of the elder.
He slept with every newlywed bride of the village.

Except for that peculiar arrangement, Barley
Cross was as nearly normal as a village in a world
of universal disaster could be: and all the men of
the village were pleased to have it so, now and
forever.

But nothing lasts forever.

The sound of a tolling bell woke Liam McGrath.
He nudged his sleeping wife.

Hear that racket, Eileen!

Eileen McGrath stirred in her sleep. She had
been up half the night nursing their one year old
son through an attack of croup, and she was in no
mood for conversation.

Liam frowned at the bells clamour. That could
only be the village church belland Father Con
never allowed it to be sounded as a warning.

Eileen opened her eyes. What time is it?

Liam reached across her to consult the ancient
wind-up alarm his mother had given them as a
wedding present.

Only half five, by God! Dyou think theres some-
thing wrong?

She said drowsily, Sounds like a death knell to
me.

He swung his legs out of bed. The Curry cottage
clung close to the root of Kirkogue mountain, a
cockstride out of the village of Barley Cross. From
his bedroom window Liam could see along the
villages one and only main street. He peered
through the curtains. Figures moved on the dis-
tant roadway.

And the bell tolled.

He grabbed his trousers from the chair back,
and put a leg into them.

Eileen raised herself on one elbow. Where are
you going?

He buckled his belt. Im off to see whats
happened. It may be an emergency.

She sighed. Dont wake Tommy. I've only just
got him off.

Liam nodded. Their sons harsh breathing and
racking cough had demanded the village doctor's
attention the previous night. Liam could hear ster-

134

A CURE FOR CROUP 135

torous respiration from the next room. He tiptoed
downstairs, lifted his jacket from the newel post,
and slipped out into the morning light.

Seamus Murray stood at the door of his forge.
The smiths face was unduly solemn. He seemed
not to notice Liams presence.

Liam shook his arm. Whats happened, man?
What's the bell for?

Seamus mouth opened and closed, like a fish in
a jar. Then the words gushed out. The OMearas
dead! They found him at the foot of the stairs
when the guard went in to report the all clear
this morning. He'd had a heart attack.

Liam stared, his brain refusing to accept the
smiths news. Patrick OMeara, Lord of Barley Cross,
Master of the Fist, and focus of village life for as
long as Liam could remember, dead? It was like
hearing the village clock had vanished.

He said stupidly, How come they found him so
early?

Seamus Murray shot him a pitying look. The
Master always wanted a report as soon as it grew
light enough to see the OToole cottage. We've
done it for yearsthough I doubt a lad of your age
would appreciate why.

Liam knew why. He had suffered the saga of
Barley Cross versus the Rest of Ireland from his
elders ever since he had been old enough to pay
attention.

He ignored Murray's dig. So who found him?

The smith scanned the road. Liams face ap-
peared to be the last thing he wanted to look at.
Christ, manhow should I know? I dont stand
guard at the Fist any more. Does it matter? We've
lost our protectorthe man who kept us from death
and destruction in the years gone byand all you
want to know is who found him!

136 Far Frontiers

All Barley Cross went to the funeral, that being
the villagers normal procedure. But many a wife
shed more than customary tears for the deceased.
Patrick OMeara, the ram of Barra Hill, had left no
widow to mourn his passing, but in a very real
way he had been a father to the community, and
many of the women had peculiarly fond memories
of him.

The OMearas henchmen met in the dining hall
of the Fist as soon as the obsequies were done.

General Larry Desmond drained a tumbler of
poteen with scant regard for its potency. He wiped
the back of his hand across his mouth, then set the
empty glass on the carpet between his feet. Well,
he said. We're in a pickle now.

At the other end of the broken backed settee,
Kevin Murphy the vet stared gloomily into his
own glass. God dammit! he muttered. I loved
that bloody man. Why could it not have happened
to one of us instead?

Celia Larkin, MA, schoolmistress and spinster,
sipped a cup of herb tea brewed specially for her
by Michael, the OMearas servant. Neglected run-
nels in her face powder showed where the tears
had flowed. She sniffed. Maybe its the Lord's
judgment on our presumption. Father Con ranted
about it often enough.

Denny Mallon, MD, dwarfed in the great, shiny
armchair, sucked at an empty pipe. Father Cons
views on delegated procreation dont necessarily
reflect those of our Maker. Think about Judah's
advice to Onan in Genesis. And, anyway, this is no
time to be questioning tenets. But for Patrick
OMeara, Barley Cross would be a futureless dor-
mitory by now. I cant imagine even Father Con
would want that.

General Desmond refilled his glass from the bot-

A CURE FOR CROUP 137

tle on the floor. Denny, you are overly pessimistic
as usual. A few of us here still have a kick or two
left in us. Point iswhere are we going to find a
man to father the next generation of kids in Barley
Cross?

That child of the Kellys began Celia Larkin.

Kevin Murphy grunted. Christ. Celia, hes only
ten or eleven years old. We're surely not counting
on adolescent precocity to

General Desmond choked over his drink. God
love us! Let the little fellow grow up first! We're
not even sure hes fertile. The Kellys never had
any more kids.

Celia Larkin compressed prim lips. You misun-
derstand me, gentlemen. It was the father I had in
mind. And my idea was for it to be done surgically.
Presumably the way Kevin achieves it with his
beasts.

Kevin Murphy jerked upright. Hold on, now!
Im no gynecologist. Better ask Denny about that
kind of maneuver.

Doctor Denny Mallon lowered his pipe. The
Kelly boy might be a possibility in a year or twoif
he is his fathers son. But Con Kelly never man-
aged another child. As for artificial insemination, I
have no equipment and no skillnor the wish to
employ either. We have discussed this idea before,
and rejected it. We agreed, if I rightly recall, that
women are not cattle. And, anyway, to go in now
for clinical insemination would explode our care-
fully nurtured fiction that the husbands of Barley
Cross are the fathers of their children. No, my
friends, what we need is a new seigneur to exercise
his droits.

General Desmond's eyes narrowed in sudden
suspicion. He glowered at the doctor. Just what
have you hidden up your sleeve, Denny lad?

138 Far Frontiers

Denny Mallon picked at the charcoaled bowl of
his pipe with a black thumbnail. He closed his
eyes, as though weighing a doubtful course. Then
he shook his head.

It s not professional ethics to betray a patient's
confidence.

Denny! squealed Celia Larkin.

But if you'll each give me your word to pre-
serve"

Christ, man! Yes, yes! interrupted Kevin
Murphy.

Denny Mallon swivelled arched eyebrows at the
general and the schoolmistress. You, tooboth of
you?

God, man! Give up! Yes!

Anything, Denny. Just tell us!

The doctor tapped his pipe on the heel of his
hand. His listeners strained forward to catch his
soft-spoken words.

Eileen McGrath tells me shes missed her menses
for the second month in succession. I think shes
pregnant of her second child!

Larry Desmond's breath came out in a low
whistle. Young Liam McGrath?

Denny Mallon nodded. Who else?

Celia Larkins eyes flashed behind her rimless
spectacles. What exactly does that mean, Denny
you re the expert.

Denny Mallon grimaced. It could mean that
our dear Patrick passed on his fertility to Liam
McGrathfor which mercy I would be grateful. Or
it could be that our ozone layer is repairing itself
since we stopped assaulting it with fluorocarbons.
Which is unlikely. Alternatively, it could be that
some of our children have developed an immunity
to heavy ultraviolet doses. And that would be the
best answer of all.

A CURE FOR CROUP 139

But you don't know which?
Denny Mallon shrugged. Only time will tell.

Meantime, I think we should make full use of young
McGrath.

Kevin Murphy said, Will he oblige?

Give me a chance to ask him!

Celia Larkin pounced. You'll do it, then?

Denny Mallon grimaced. Seems like Ive got
the job.

The general snorted. Seems like we'll have to
get ourselves an interim government.

Kevin Murphy looked doubtful. Dyou think
they'll take orders from us?

They ll take them from Larry, Celia Larkin
pointed out. He still runs the army. And he can
delegate duties to us. It will work 'til we get a new
Master.

Denny Mallon got out his pouch, and poked his
pipe bowl into it. He said casually, I have to visit
the Curry cottage tomorrow. The McGrath infant
is not well, and I have a theory to check. I'll find
an opportunity to talk to Liam. He rolled up the
pouch and slipped it back into his pocket. But
we ve got to offer him everythingLord of Barley
Cross, Master of the Fist, the lotor it wont work.
He must replace Patrick in every way. Anything
less would confuse the village.

Kevin Murphy grunted doubtfully. Im not sure
the village will accept him.

Larry Desmond drained his glass. I'll guaran-
tee the army's acceptance.

Celia Larkin smiled acidly. And J the school
children.

The vet said, But how can we justify his taking
the OMearas place? Hes no more than a boy.
They're used to an adult tyrant like we built Pat
into.

140 Far Frontiers

The general chuckled. Those in the know won't
need any justification other than his fertility.

But the others? The OConnors, the Toomeys,
the Flanagans?

If Pat had only left a will nominating young
McGrath ... Denny Mallon began pensively.

Celia Larkin sniffed disparagingly. That would
be too good to be true.

The doctor fumbled inside his jacket for one of
the last ball points in Barley Cross. Get us a bit of
paper, Celia. I'll write one out straight away that
meets the bill.

The following afternoon, Doctor Denny Mallon
found Liam McGraths donkey standing by a peat
stack on the main road out of the village. The
doctor rested an arm on the animals rump and
waited. Liam appeared from behind the stack, arms
piled with turves.

Denny Mallon waved a salute. God bless the
work, Liam. Tis a soft day we're having. He
shielded his pipe bowl from the drizzle, and struck
a home made match.

Liam pitched his turves into the panniers borne
by the donkey. Are you looking for me, doctor?
His voice was sharp with anxiety. You're not wor-
ried about our Tommy?

Denny Mallon puffed smoke into the moist air.
T want another look at him, Liam. And maybe
take a sputum sample. But nothing to worry about.
I want a quiet word with you first.

Liam's face set hard. About what, doctor? Is
there something wrong with my son? If there is,
theres nothing you cant say in front of my wife.

Denny Mallon cocked an eye at the white cot-
tage perched on the toe of the mountain. Up here,
presumably, Eileen McGrath went about her wifely
duties. The top of Kirkogue was lost in mist. The

A CURE FOR CROUP 141

nearest house in Barley Cross was a drizzle masked
shape. Doctor and youth might have been the only
inhabitants of a nebulous, rain-soaked, peaty land-
scape. Which was the way Denny Mallon had
planned it.

He said, Well now, LiamI wouldn't be in such
a hurry to make such pronouncements meself. What
if I was to say Im here on an errand for General
Desmond?

Like what? Liam demanded guardedly. Im
not old enough to serve as Fist, yet. And if some-
one wants help with a job, he don't have to get the
general to order me to

Now ...now, soothed Denny Mallon. No one
is complaining about you, son. And the only per-
son seeking your help is the general himself.

Liam frowned. What can I do for him?

Denny Mallon put away his pipe. Home grown
herbs didnt burn well in damp weather. He said,
T believe you had an interview with the O'Meara
when you got married?

Liam McGrath grinned at the memory. That par-
ticular day, he reckoned, he grew up. The Master
told you about it, did he?

Denny Mallon turned up his jacket collar, and
dug his hands into his pockets. Lets say I had his
confidence. Did he happen to let you in on a cer-
tain secret, about which I would be reluctant to
expand any further?

Liams grin disappeared. If you mean, do I know
who fathered our Tommyyves.

Ah! Denny Mallons hobgoblin face creased in
what Liam identified as a grin of satisfaction. But
who fathered your second child?

Liam goggled at him. Eileen is really going to
have another?

Tm her doctor, arent I?

142 Far Frontiers

Liam was abruptly babbling nonsense. He rolled
down his shirtsleeves, and pulled a scrap of tarpau-
lin from the top of the peat stack. Come on,
doctor lets go! Thanks for the news. Eileen sus-
pected she might...

Denny Mallon raised a damp hand. Hold on
now, Liam. You've not heard the generals mes-
sage yet.

Liam pulled the tarpaulin round his shoulders,
gripping the donkeys rope. Make it quick, doctor.
Can't we talk on the way?

Denny Mallon shrugged. Tll put it bluntly, son.
You're aware precisely what our recent Masters
most important service to the village was. And Ive
just told you that you've fathered your second child.

Well, since your little Tommy will be the only
child in Barley Cross with a sibling

Liam frowned. A sibling?

A brother or sister.

Oh! Liams mouth made a circle. He said
guardedly, And so?

So you are the only male in Barley Cross capa-
ble of taking over from the OMeara. Because you
are the only one who has inherited his peculiar
talent.

Liam glanced nervously towards the cottage on
Kirkogue. What are you trying to tell me, doctor?

Denny Mallon inhaled, like a man preparing to
plunge into icy water. Inwardly he berated Celia
Larkin for lumbering him with this pest of a job.
He said, Our recent Master has nominated you in
his will to be his successor. And since all the kids
in Barley Cross are his children, you have as good
a claim as any to his title. The general has charged
me to invite you to take up your new role immedi-
ately.

A CURE FOR CROUP 143

After what seemed to be several hours thought,
Liam said, He cant ask me to do that, doctor!

Denny Mallon shrugged. He can, Liam. Haven't
I just done it for him?

But what would folk in the village say?

The doctor shrugged again. You might have to
put up with some comment. Even the O'Meara
was criticized. You cant expect to please everybody.
But you'd have General Desmond and his men
behind you.

Liam flicked another glance at the cottage on
Kirkogue. What if I have toyou know ... ?

That would be your own problem, son.

Liam squared his shoulders. And if I say no?

Denny Mallon stared impassively from beneath
drizzle bedewed eyebrows. Then Barley Cross goes
down the drain.

Liam grumbled. Its not fair to expect me to

The doctor's face was sphinx-like. Who told
you life is supposed to be fair? Do you imagine Pat
O'Meara enjoyed playing a libidinous tyrant? Some-
times there's a need to subordinate personal incli-
nations to the wishes of the community.

Tm not sure the community wants me to

The wizened, bent figure straightened up. Im
not just talking about our village. There are bigger
communities.

Liam said weakly, Can I talk to Eileen first?

That might be the best idea, agreed the doctor.

Eileen McGrath said, If you think I'll agree to
your taking over from the ram of Barley Cross,
you ve another thing coming, my lad.

But Eileen! Didn't you tell me that OMeara
was a civil man, and that it was an honor to be
chosen for his droit du seigneur?

You and the O'Meara are two different people,

144 Far Frontiers

his wife pointed out. The OMeara had no wife to
object to his shenanigans. And you do!

But wouldn't you like to be the First Lady of
Barley Cross, and live up at the Fist?

Eileen McGrath's honest face grew sober. I sup-
pose any girl would say yes to thatalthough
theres a great deal needs doing to that barn of a
place before Id hang my hat in the hall.

Well then

There is no well then, she affirmed decisively.
One wife is enough for any man, and one wife is
all you're going to have.

Liam found Father Con shining brasses in the
village church. The priest had aged in the short
time since Liams wedding. He now walked with a
stoop, frequently clutching his side.

Well, Liam, he greeted. Youve come to help
me with these dratted brasses, no doubt?

Liam grinned. He was fond of the old priest. He

picked up a rag and a candlestick. If you like,
father. Actually I called for a bit of advice. He
told the priest of the generals proposal.

Ce ie

Twould be a fine promotion for you.

It would be.... Liam hesitated. How aware
was Father Con of the reasons for the OMearas
promiscuity? One had to be discreet.

But you're bothered about certain aspects of
the job? added the priest.

Liam let out a sigh. Thats about it, father.

Hmm. The priest put down the vase he had
been polishing, and squatted in a pew. I think we
discussed this matter before? And I refused to con-
demn our recent Masters conductmuch to your
dismay?

Liam nodded. Thats true.

The priest sighed. Well Liam, if you decide to
take on the OMearas job, I might also refuse to

A CURE FOR CROUP 145

condemn your conduct. One day you may learn
there are higher loyalties than those between hus-
band and wife. The priest examined the candle-
stick thoughtfully. Jack Ketch is not necessarily
guilty of murder when he carries out the states
commands. Nor the starving woman of theft when
she steals to feed her hungry children. So maybe
our recent Master was innocent of adultery when
he exercised his seigneurial rightsfor surely our
fine school would be empty of scholars, and our
church short of sinners, had he not done so. The
old man rested his head on the wood of the pew.

Tis a problem thats given me little peace
these last few years. And Im no nearer the solu-
tion now than I was at the start.

Perhaps if you appealed to someone higher?
Liam suggested diplomatically.

The priest snorted in derision. Twould be a
marvellous day that I hear from a superior, Liam
supposing there are any left. And remember, they
too would be only men, with mens limping in-
sight into ethical matters. Sometimes tis better to
pray, and take your answer on trust. Desperate
situations demand desperate remedies, lad. And
Barley Cross is surely in a desperate situation.

Liam put down the polishing rag. Are you saying
it is okay for me to take the OMearas job, Father
Con?

The priest grimaced. If you didnt want it, and
I said yes, would you take any more notice than if
you did want it, and I said no?

Liam shrugged. Father Con could be pretty vague
when he didnt want to come right out with things.
He said, I suppose you are right, Father Con.

Suppose? The old man raised his head angrily.
Is that the best you can say? Consider, Liam, who
gives me comfort and advice? Do you think you

146 Far Frontiers

are the only soul in Barley Cross with a problem?
On this matter you will have to be guided by your
conscience, and make your own decision. The days
of dogmatic religion are gone. Soon you won't
even have this remnant of Mother Church to steer
your footsteps.

Liam sidled toward the church door. Father Con
with the miseries was a person to avoid. He needed
someone more cheerful to talk to. Someone like
Liam clapped his hands. Of course! Eileens mother.
He muttered, Tll think about it, Father, slipped
out of the porch into the sunshine, and was off,
running.

Brigit OConnor was in her kitchen, floury to the
elbows over a batch of soda bread. She said, Mister
OConnor is down at the mill. He'll be making a
new blade for Mick McGuires water wheel. Did
you want him badly?

Tom O'Connor being a joiner by trade was often
called upon to fix bits of Barley Cross machinery.
Liam got on well enough with him, but he would
not deny that he had half-hoped to find his mother-
in-law alone. He said. No sweat, mam-in-lawI'd
just as soon bring my trouble to you.

Dumpy Brigit O'Connor beamed fondly at him.
She had always fostered a soft spot for Maureen
McGrath's lad. Will I be making you a cup of
tea? she asked. While you tell me what's bug-
ging you.

Liam hoisted himself onto a corner of the table.
He swung his legs for a moment, in thought. His
mother-in-law might not be as well informed as
Father Con. He said, Doctor Denny says the
OMeara has left a will naming me as the next
Master, and General Desmond has asked me to
take over.

Well now ... Brigit OConnor hefted, one

A CURE FOR CROUP 147

handed, a steaming, black, iron kettle from the
stove top. She poured boiling water into a dented
aluminum teapot. That would be a great step up
for you, Liam.

His legs stopped swinging. You wouldn't mind,
mam-in-law?

She stirred the pot vigorously. Indeed no!
Wouldn't you make as good a Master as the
O'Meara, after you've had a bit of practice?

Liam sneaked off the corner from a loaf cooling
under a towel. He popped the bread into his mouth.
T wish Eileen felt like that.

His mother-in-law studied him with bright but-
ton eyes. Does she not fancy living up at the
Fist?

Tts not that. Liam hesitated. The Masters ac-
tions were not supposed to be discussed, although
the deeds were public knowledge. Theres an as-
pect of the job shes not keen on.

Brigit O'Connor's eyes gleamedpossibly with
the memory of a night at the Fist a bride was
supposed to endure with fortitude. You mean the
O'Mearas bedroom antics?

Liam nodded. Somehow his mother-in-law al-
ways understood. I dont think Eileen is too happy
about me doing that sort of thing.

Brigit O'Connor poured out two mugs of herb
brew. She pushed one towards Liam. Well, surely
the sexy bits are optional? You dont have to do it,
do you?

He grimaced. Im not so sure. Doctor Denny
says the village brides will expect it, because its
an honor. And Brege O'Malley gets married in a
fortnight, so the question would crop up straight
away.

His mother-in-law lodged her elbows on the ta-
ble to study him. Liam McGrath was a good lad:

148 Far Frontiers

nothing prurient about him. But if being Lord of
Barley Cross meant he had to take each village
bride to bed on her wedding night, then Liam
would do it, conscientiously. I wonder why the
Master picked on you, she murmured.

He grinned with embarrassment. I dunno. He
glanced slyly at her. Eileen is pregnant again.

Brigit O'Connors eyes opened wide. Liam! You
clever boy! She darted round the table, and hugged
him. Tl have a word with our Eileen for you.
Meantime ... She stood back to smile at her
reflection in the glass on the sideboard. Mother of
the First Lady of Barley Cross! That would shake
them. And no harm if some of the dignity rubbed
off onto Biddy OConnor. She said, Is there any
way I can get a glimpse inside the Fist? So I can
tell Eileen what it will be like.

Liam said, I'll have a word with Doctor Denny.

General Desmond ushered Brigit O'Connor
through the door at the end of the landing. It'll
be twenty years or so since you saw the inside of
this room, won't it, Biddy? he asked, smiling.

Brigit OConnor gave the general the gimlet eye.
Twenty years ago she had been bright eyed Brigit
Callaghan on the eve of her wedding night. She
remembered the bedroom well enough, and the
man who had awaited her there. She said, Thats
quite enough from you, General Desmond. What
passed between me and the OMeara that night is
no business of yours, or anyone else's.

General Desmond feigned alarm, and backed off.

Brigit OConnor stared about the room with a
grim nostalgia. Same old wooden bed. Same old
yellow roses on the wallpaper. Same view of tree-
tops from the window overhung with ivy to render

easy clandestine entry and exit. Same worn carpet
edged by bare boards. She sighed. For all his

A CURE FOR CROUP 149

tyrants power, Patrick OMeara had never looked
after himself properly. She gave the general a quick
belligerent glance. If you want my opinion, Larry
Desmond, the place is a pigsty. Typical bachelors
pad. Sure, you wouldnt get me living up here for
all the tea in Chiny. And you'll not get our Eileen
SO easy.

The general's smile faded. What's to do, then,
Biddy? Between you and me, its essential we get
young Liam installed up here as Master. And the
sooner the better.

Brigit O'Connor planted knuckles on her hips.
Then you'd better throw out every last stick of
furniture and scrap of carpet in the house. Get
some women up to scrub the place from top to
bottom. Repaint every bit of woodwork. Hang new
curtains at every window. Then fill the house with
furniture a woman could be proud of.

Larry Desmond rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

Denny said you'd give me some advice.

She laughed harshly. It dont take a clarryvoyant
to spot a dirty dump. Im ashamed to think you let
the poor devil live and die in this midden.

Larry Desmond studied the carpet. For once his
assurance seemed to have deserted him. At length
he muttered. You loved him too, Biddy?

She sniffed. Didnt we all? Dyou think we'd
have put up with his antics for a minute if we
hadn't?

Larry Desmond sighed. That maybe explains a
thing or two. I'll let Denny Mallon know what you
recommend. It'll mean mounting a raid for the
first time in years, but well have to get furniture
from somewhere.

The expedition had the village lads hopping with
excitement. Reared on stories of the glorious days,
they saw the opportunity for an adventure. They

150 Far Frontiers

pleaded with the general to be let come. Straws
drawn from a cap decided who got the hard greased
rifles resurrected for the occasion. And the general
insisted on personally leading the raid.

Liam watched them march away, slit eyed with
envy. Thirty men, all armed, and three horse drawn
carts for the loot.

Eileen came to stand beside him. And why isn't
my bold bucko going with them?

He grunted bitterly. General Desmond says he
daren't risk me getting killed.

Eileen McGrath pursed her lips. Liam guessed
she was perversely pleased with his answer. She
said, But you haven't told him you'll be the next
Lord of Barley Cross?

Liam shrugged. I dont have to, love. The
OMeara left a will naming me. The general posted
it outside the church this morning. As far as hes
concerned, I am the next Master.

She said quickly, Where are they off to?

He slumped against the door jamb. There are
some fine houses outside Oughterard. They are
seeking some furniture for the Fist.

And who's going to live there when its all dolled
up?

He studied the boggy landscape mutinously. No
oneunless you agree to me being the Master.

Her voice rose. Liam McGrath

He turned his face away. Forget it, Eileen. If
you don't want it, neither do I!

Their son had another attack the following day.
Liam went down to the doctor for a bottle. He
seized the opportunity for a quiet chat.

How long dyou think the raid will take?

Denny Mallon corked a small sample of his croup
mixture, and stuck one of his precious labels on
the bottle. He handed it to Liam. Depends on

A CURE FOR CROUP 151

how fast they are at furniture removing. Remem-
ber now, tell your Eileen: a teaspoonful only, when
the little fellow starts to breathe hard.

Liam took the bottle. He said, Im afraid they
are wasting their time. Eileen wont hear of me
being Master.

Denny Mallon got out his pipe, and polished the
bowl on his sleeve. Does she know why the gen-
eral wants you?

Liam shrugged. If she knows, she doesnt care.
No way do I get to have seigneurial rights with the
future brides of Barley Cross.

The doctor grinned. Im not sure that Id agree
to it, either, in her place. Dyou think the Fist
might tempt her, when we've got it done up?

Liam rolled his eyes. Shell be tempted, all right.
But no way will she put up with me doing what
the Master is supposed to do.

Denny Mallon stared at his pipe. Maybe she'll
have to be let into the secret. I'll be wanting a chat
with her soon about the baby. I think we have an
allergy on our hands. But I need to make a few
more tests before Im sure.

Liam looked startled. Can an allergy cause
croup?

The doctor lodged the cold pipe in the corner of
his mouth. Indeed it can, son. But so many things
can set them off. I'm trying to pin down the hap-
ten or allergen responsible.

And if you find out, we could do something
about it?

Denny Mallon nodded. Thats the general idea,
son.

The raiding party came home the following day.
The village turned out en masse to welcome its
warriors. General Desmond led the column, feet

152 Far Frontiers

first, on a cart piled high with loot, one leg wrapped
in bandages.

Celia Larkin stood beside Denny Mallon. Whats
the old fool done now?

Got himself shot in the leg, I should imagine.
The doctor waved a greeting as the cart bearing
Larry Desmond went past. I hope he doesnt want
the damn thing chopped off.

They must have been more lively in Oughterard
than he expected.

Maybe those old ones with a kick left are not
confined to Barley Cross.

Dont be snide, doctor, chided the school-
teacher.

It took the rest of the week to clear out, clean
up, and refurnish the Fist. The village's unofficial
ruling caucus met at the weekend in a splendidly
furbished dining hall. General Larry Desmond,
crutch on the new carpet at his feet, said, Ive
posted a notice in the village proclaiming young
McGrath as Master. Everybody is asking when will
he take over. She cant ignore that.

Celia Larkin perched primly on a bright, bro-
cade tuffet. That's your trouble, Larry. You never
married. You dont understand how a woman feels
about a husband's fidelity.

She cant put young McGrath's fidelity before
the future of Barley Cross!

Kevin Murphy ran a palm caressingly over the
pile on the arm of the settee. I have known ani-
mals refuse to breed.

The general's eyebrows went up. Are you tell-
ing me we ve wasted our time? And me with half a
dozen slugs in me leg!

Denny Mallon waved his pipe. You've done your
part well enough, Larry. I think its now time for
diplomacy. Let me have a chat with Eileen Mc-

A CURE FOR CROUP 153

Grath. Maybe I can talk her round to our way of
thinking.

The same day, Eileen McGrath got a note from
the doctor, asking her to bring the child in for an
inoculation. The doctor also made other prepara-
tions.

As they walked down to the village, Eileen said,
T hope you are not expecting to go out all the way
out to Killoo farm to visit your parents as well? Its
bad enough having to bring him out to the doctor.

Liam said, We can go straight back home if you
want. I was hoping we might leave Tommy with
your ma while we take a squint at the Fist. I hear
they've done marvels with it.

She lifted a corner of the shawl covering her
son's face. The infant snored peacefully. She said,
T'd like to see it. My ma thinks I ought to let you
accept the Master's job, so we can move up there.
She says they've made it into a real palace.

He said, Lets do that, then. We can call at the
doctors afterwards.

Brigit OConnor got to her feet as they entered
her living room. She curtsied to Liam. Come in,
me lord. I'll take the little fellow.

Eileen stared, dumbfounded. Mayou bowed
to Liam!

Her mother puffed out a pouter pigeon bosom.
And isnt he our new Lord? I always bowed to the
O'Meara.

But Eileen stared from her husband to her
mother. I haven't agreed

Her mother laughed shortly. My girl, 'tisnt you
that appoints our lord and master. We have the
O'Mearas word as to whos to follow him.

Tom O'Connor entered from the kitchen, a saw
in his hands. He halted, removed his cap, and said,
Good day to ye, sir. Hullo Eileen, me lady.

154 Far Frontiers

His daughter was wide eyed, But, da!

Her father said hurriedly, I'll fill the kettle for
a brew. He vanished back into the kitchen.

Eileen stamped her foot. I dont want to be
First Lady of Barley Cross!

Her mother shrugged. You'll be the only person
in the village who feels that way.

Later they walked up to the Fist. Villagers stepped
out of their path. Men doffed caps, or saluted.
Women bowed or curtsied. Eileen grew redder
and redder. She murmured, I cant stand much
more of this.

Liam gripped her hand. It isnt far now.

Just past the OMearas old tank, now blooming
with bindweed and woodbine, a voice called,
 Tenshun!

A small Fist Guard stiffened.

Sergeant Andy McGrath bellowed, Present
arms!

Rifles came smartly to the fore. Liams stepfa-
ther came to the salute.

Liam muttered embarrassedly, Thank you,
sergeant. All those other salutes and curtsies might
have been part of an elaborate legpull, but no one
made Andy McGrath act the fool. Especially on
duty.

General Desmond, limping with a crutch, met
them at the drive entrance. He sketched a left
handed salute for Liam, and addressed Eileen.
Excuse me not bowing, me lady. Im still in a bit
of a state. May I conduct you round your new
home.

But its not Eileen began. I haven't ...
She let the words trail off. General Desmond was
limping ahead of them, running on about the re-
cent raid and how a spry Oughterarder had got

a)

A CURE FOR CROUP 155

him in a shotguns sights before he could take
cover.

They passed through the newly oiled and pol-
ished doorway into the great hall. Candles flick-
ered in a shimmering chandelier overhead. Glass
gleamed from a glistening oak sideboard. Under-
foot the carpet was softer than a field of spring
grass.

Michael, the OMearas man, appeared. He still
wore his grubby flyaway collar and stained green
waistcoat, but his hands were spotless. He said,
Can I get you some refreshment, sir? Madame?

Eileen eyed him, wordless. Some tea? Liam
suggested. A good stiff jolt from the poteen bottle
would have been more to his taste, but Eileen held
firm views on alcohol.

Very good, me lord. Michael turned on his
heel.

Perhaps we could take it in the library? sug-
gested the general. This way, me lady.

He opened a door on the left. Liam saw a room
lined with more books than he had ever envisaged.
Denny Mallon got hurriedly to his feet. Good day,
me lord, me lady. He pulled out chairs for them.

Tl leave ye a moment, said the general. While
I make sure Michael knows where to bring the
tay.

They sat down with the doctor. He placed both
hands on the baize covered table. Well, sir,
madamehow dyou like your new home?

But Doctor Denny! Eileens face was scarlet.
T haven't agreed to move up here. We only came
for a look.

But sure, its all been done specially for you
and our new Master. Denny Mallons voice was
gentle, persuasive. And doesnt the whole village
want you living up here? It hasn't been the same

156 Far Frontiers

without a Lord of Barley Cross domiciled at the
Fist. So the sooner you move in the happier we'll
all be.

Eileens expression grew stubborn. If we move
in, you mustn't expect Liam to exercise his droit or
whatever when that OMalley girl gets married
next week.

But, my ladyhe may be expected to do just
that.

Expected or no, Im not having adultery in my
house.

Denny Mallon seemed to shrivel even smaller.
Perhaps he saw a carefully constructed edifice crum-
bling despite his bravest efforts. My ladycould
you tolerate it elsewhere? Out of sight?

Eileen McGraths mouth set firm. Indeed I could
not, doctor. And you've no cause to be tempting
me so. What's important about these rights of the
Master? They're just a tradition we could very
well do without.

But we really can't, my dear. Doctor Denny
Mallon was suddenly down on his knees before
Eileen McGrath. I beg of you, my lady. Let your
husband inherit his title and duties. For without
him we are doomed. While the OMeara lived we
could hope. But now he is gone we have only
Liam.

Eileen McGrath whimpered. The sight of Doctor
Denny Mallon, a pillar of the community, on his
knees before her, pleading, seemed to unnerve her.
She grasped his hands and tugged. Doctor Denny,
stop! You mustn't kneel to me. It isnt dignified.
Please get up!

Denny Mallon resisted, head bowed. My lady
Eileenif I get up without securing your consent
to our wishes, all the work of the last twenty-odd
years will have been wasted. Will it help persuade

A CURE FOR CROUP 157

you if I get the general, the vet and the schoolmis-
tress to kneel here beside me?

Eileen McGrath's voice broke in a sob. Doctor
Denny, please get up. It is not fit that you should
act like this. The O'Meara wasn't worth it. Every-
one knows he was an old lecher with an appetite
for virgins

Eileen! Liam was shouting. You are talking
about your real father!

She paused. Her hand flew to her mouth, her
eyes suddenly frightened.

Liam lowered his voice. Listen to Doctor Denny,
love. Hes trying to tell you something dreadfully
important. Patrick OMeara was Master here only
because he could father children. No one else in
Barley Crossor the whole world so far as we
knowwas able to do that. And now the doctor
thinks Ive inherited the mans fertility. So Gen-
eral Desmond has asked me to take over as Master.

Eileens eyes grew big. You mean the O'Meara
did it out of duty?

My lady Denny Mallon interrupted urgently,
let me tell you about two villages. One is a
backward place dominated by a medieval type
tyrant and his clique of sycophants. This tyrants
father debauched every bride in the village on her
wedding night on the pretext of exercising his droit
du seigneur. And the tyrant himself hopes to pur-
sue the same lustful course despite the protests of
good folk like yourself.

The other village is the only place I know of
where babies are suckled, infants play in the street,
and children go to school as they used to do the
world over. Moreover, its a place where married
couples can hope to have a child of their own to
love and cherish. In fact, its a village with a fu-
ture to look forward to.

158 Far Frontiers

Both these communities exist because of a
fortuitious arrangement of one mans genes, and
the determination of people to practice self decep-
tion on a heroic scalebecause they are aspects of
the same place. And it depends on your prejudices
which one you choose to inhabit. Because, my dear,
you can live in either, depending on what you
believe. I, silly old fool that I am, just happen to
believe we live in the one with a future.

Doctor Denny! Eileen tugged at his wrists, her
lips trembling. Please get up, and say no more.
Liam will do it, and I'll try to see things your
way.

One hand on the table, Denny Mallon got awk-
wardly to his feet. There was no triumph in his
face. His eyes were solemn. He said, Thank you,
Eileen McGrath, for finding the courage to make
the right decision.

She was dabbing her eyes. Hadn't we better be
getting down to your house to see about inoculat-
ing our Tommy?

A ghost of a smile flickered at the corners of the
doctors mouth. Sure that won't be necessary now,
my lady. Ive ascertained that the little fellow's
croup is an allergic reaction to fossil pollen grains
blowing off the peat stacks near your cottage. I
was going to suggest you move away from there to
give him a chance. But now it won't be necessary.
Up here at the Fist, away from those stacks, you
should be all right.

Eileen McGrath smiled, her eyes inscrutable.
What a wise suggestion, doctor. It will certainly
do for a reason to explain why I changed my mind,
if anyone should ask.

Denny Mallon nodded wisely. It might at that,
my lady.

Liam McGrath, Lord of Barley Cross, attended

A CURE FOR CROUP 159

his first meeting with the caucus the following
Saturday morning. Neat in his best clothes, he
entered the dining hall through his private door.

General Desmond and the vet, Kevin Murphy,
sat at each end of the plush new settee, a bottle of
poteen and the generals crutch on the floor be-
tween them. Celia Larkin, the school mistress,
perched on a dainty tuffet, sipping tea in silence.
An armchair which matched the settee for luxury
almost swallowed the shrivelled form of Doctor
Denny Mallon. And, on the other side of the
fireplace, an old sagging armchair, arms and back
shiny with use, stood empty.

General Desmond cocked a casual thumb in the
empty chairs direction. That used to be the
OMearas seat. We've kept it specially for you,
son, so youll know your place. Now, about the
O'Malley girls wedding. We've decided you'd bet-
ter get down there early and show em your face

Liam slipped obediently into the Masters seat.
He nodded, listening carefully to his instructions
from the real Masters of Barley Cross. He knew his
place.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

EVILEYE

by
Dean Ing

Its remarkable how little Dr. Dean Ing and I
find to agree on. Dean lives in a small town in
Oregon. The kindest thing I have ever heard him
say about my home (Hollywood) is that I live in an
anthill. We don't agree politically (except when it
comes to major issues like defense), or on our pic-
ture of the future. We were able to work together
on Mutual Assured Survival (Baen Books, 1984).

The world would probably be a better place if
everyone thought as I do, but it would also be
rather dull; besides, as John Stuart Mill said, you
cannot understand your position until you have
argued it with someone who does not agree.

Dean first introduced Dr. Victoire Lorenz, ma-
rine biologist, in a story called Liquid Assets in
the pages of the much lamented Destinies. Its fit-
ting that she returns in Far Frontiers, successor to
Destinies. Since we last saw her, Vicki Lorenz has
learned much, and is changing more.

Dr. Victoire Lorenz stood in the shadowed twilight
silence of the visitor display room, cradling her
kitten, and studied her enemy in the big floor tank.
The light from high windows above the aquarium
displays was scarcely enough illumination for hu-
man eyes. It was more than enough for the noctur-
nal vision of Evileye. Prowling rocky sea-bottom
haunts, his kind had fed in darkness for ten times
a million years. Crowded up against the heavy
clear plastic of his circular tank, clearly aware of
her scrutiny, her enemy stared back. Though the
tank was over twenty feet across, its acrylic wall
waist-high to a woman of Vickis small size, it was
barely enough for Evileye to move about freely.

It had been Gary Matthews, mate of the Yaquina,
who'd suggested adding the inward-curving tank
lip with sharp edges. The angular, rawboned Mat-
thews had shown interest in Vicki from the first,
despite the fact that her responses were barely
civil. Gary had taken her turndowns with an easy
grace that irritated her, yet he could still take an
interest in her work. That acrylic lip idea had, at
least, stopped Evileye from prowling.

Now and then, when some idiot visitor tossed
popcorn or a candy wrapper into his open pool of
sea water, Evileye might move off in a sidelong
crawl, sand and tons of water roiling in his wake.
At such times he used a lidlike structure to squint.
But at other times he could open his eyes round as
a barracudas. When at rest, for example; or occa-
sionally when studying prey.

He was doing that now. Think I dont know what
goes on behind that pitiless gaze? she thought. But
this concrete floor is my turf. And I know you,
mister...

In fact, most marine biologists knew himor
his kind. Proper name: O. dofleini. At her last re-

162

EVILEYE 163

search station across the Pacific in Queensland,
they'd pronounced it doe-flain-eye. Here in New-
port at the Oregon State marine science center
they said doe-fleen-eye. But hed earned his private
nickname from Vicki by destroying a month's pains-
taking work with his insatiable lust for crab flesh.

A lab assistant had walked in one morning, hor-
rified to find Vicki Lorenzs experimental tanks
overturned, one smashed, with bits of Cancer ma-
gister, Dungeness crab, strewn on the concrete and
too many carapace fragments in the octopus tank.
Though the dofleini was again in his tank, the
seawater trail was plain and the vast brute sported
a cut on his mantle. Much of Vicki's salary came
from a sea grant to study the diminished commer-
cial crab catch. The ravenous dofleini, in one mid-
night foray, had wasted a third of her grant money
and forced her to start anew. It would be a male!
And afterward, to Vicki, he was Evileye.

His common name: Pacific Giant, the colossus of
octopi. Larger specimens existed, but his body was
the size of a medicine ball and at full span, those
leathery tentacles could reach nine feet in any
direction for the food, bits of crab or squid, intro-
duced into the big display tank. Depending on his
mood, Evileye might adopt a rusty hue or a grayish
brown to match the sand. Few visitors appreciated
his most subtle camouflage trick, the change of his
surface texture from smooth to rough or even to
nodular, as it suited this subtle hunter of the deep.
He was a great favorite of the visitors.

Oh yes, Vicki murmured, they love a good
safe scare. But what if they were your size, Scrap-
per? At the sound of her name, the dozing tiger-
stripe kitten waked for a languid glance at her
mistress and, lying on her back in the crook of
Vicki's arm, flexed tiny orange-furred paws.

164 Far Frontiers

Think you're a predator, huh? Vicki freed her
left hand; moved it above Scrappers face to tempt
playful claws. Well, that smart sonofabitch in the
tank has two hundred pounds, and a lot of brain-
power, and a few million years of evolution on
you. You'd last about as long as a hermit crab.
Her mind flashed in an unwelcome hallucination
of the great beast plucking little Scrapper from
her arms, encircling the tiny spitting ball of fur
with a sucker-lined tentacle, plunging the kitten
below to his own watery turf, pulling the pathetic
sodden prey toward the beaklike jaws, lethal toxin
from his salivary glands flooding the small body
She felt an unprofessional shudder; turned away
toward her office and the experimental equipment
it held. Acrylic lip or no, she would never again
leave her tanks of gravid female C. magister speci-
mens in the display room with Evileye.

Scrapper yawned and closed her eyes. Yeah,
me too, Vicki said. And if I dont get those egg
counts done tonight I'll be in a cock-up. While
setting her desk in order she smiled to herself at
the Aussie slang, an old habit of hers that grad
students sometimes gently mocked.

Though Vicki was American, shed found the
peak of her life during her thirties after she and
Korff landed jobs in Australia. Birding on unspoiled
Heron Island near the small exclusive marine labs
there, listening as Korff recited his latest poem
his most recent literary offense, as he put itand
making love on the Tropic of Capricorn. When his
tiny knockabout day-sailer was found capsized on
the barrier reef, she could not believe at first that
her best years were over.

The memory brought a familiar grief and, with
it, a reaction that experience had caught her
unaware. Anger, at least, she could handle. God-

EVILEYE 165

dammit, get away from that, she muttered as
Scrapper showed interest in the multicolored bot-
tles of recording pen ink. The bottles were secure
and the kitten had committed no offense but: Make
my desk a sack of arseholes, would you, Vicki
said, lifting Scrapper by her scruff. She dropped
the kitten a few inches to the waterproof carpet
and resumed setting her notes in order for the
morrow.

She knew that her anger was really at Korff,
who'd betrayed her by dying. Shed learned from
her mother that males werent to be trusted, but
she'd made herself deeply vulnerable to one, be-
dazzled by his mind, enraptured with his body. He
should've been more careful for my sake! But he
wasn t. Korff had been a gambler. And when hed
lost, she had lost. She sent the savage thought
back across the years and the pelagic deeps to her
long-dead lover: Thanks for a valuable lesson, mate.

Vicki slammed the upper left desk drawer too
hard; heard a hard thump, probably the little
nickel-plated Smith & Wesson she used to dis-
patch a thrashing shark when working at sea from
one of the research vessels. An empty Nansen bottle,
its heavy brass hidden with white epoxy paint,
nearly toppled to the floor but Vicki caught it just
above Scrappers head. The massive specimen col-
lection bottle would have obliterated her only
friend. Certainly the only one she slept with. Eight
lives to go, she said with a shaky laugh, and
swept the kitten up again.

A quick look at her wrist: past seven pM. She
hurried to lock up, thrust Scrapper beneath her
frayed pea-jacket, and headed for her rusted-out
Datsun. The rules against dogs or cats at the ma-
rine center were supposedly strict. But because
they had a problem with ants, the joke went, aard-

166 Far Frontiers

varks were okay. One of these days an undergrad
would show up with a real anteater, and then the
joke would be ruined.

She took Bay Boulevard, ignoring the lingering
Pacific glow that outlined Yaquina Bay Bridge,
now a series of sinister spans arching against the
bloody palette of the evening sky. Vicki hadn't
time to drive to her cottage halfway to Waldport.
But neither could she afford dinner at the nearby
seaside places, so she turned toward The Anchor
in Newport's heart. The food was good and, be-
cause they knew her, they'd ignore Scrapper so
long as she stayed inside that pea-jacket. They
offered other advantages too; when times were as
hard as these, pride was your enemy.

She took a rear corner booth; made an effort to
produce a smile because she knew the waitress
slightly. No menu, Fran; we're not all that hun-
gry so, uh, a hamburger steak and iced tea. Make
it a childs portion, she added, more defiant than
pleading.

You could eat a horse and chase the driver,
honey, Fran accused, adding, and childs por-
tion it is.

Vicki nodded her thanks, knowing the finely
drawn lines in her own face were more from over-
work than from undereating. Besides, Fran obvi-
ously took pride in curves as exaggerated as an
overstuffed sofa. Fran made no secret of her view:
if you weren't blowsy, you were sickly. For a
moment, Vicki's smile became genuine as she
watched Frans ample behind. By most standards,
Fran was twenty pounds too healthy.

Then Vicki leaned back and closed her eyes, her
hand stroking the fidgety kitten inside the jacket.
She couldn't blame Scrapper; the restaurant smells
had her juices flowing, too. It was probably the

EVILEYE 167

shadow across her eyelids that made her jerk them
open.

bet you eat in bed, too. Gary Matthewss
voice was husky but light for a man of his size. He
saw the spark kindle in her face and raised his
hands, drawing back. Cancel that. I mean, if you
sleep in restaurants, why then, ah

Ho, she said gravely, ho. And I wasn't sleep-
ing.
Minor surgery on your navel, then?

She realized she was still stroking Scrapper and
jerked her hand from the jacket. One tiny paw
shot out, answering the challenge of quick move-
ment, and by mischance caught Vicki's forefinger.
Damn, said Vicki, and put the finger in her
mouth.

Matthews had seen the kitten. Still, Ah; minor
surgery from your navel. Its little differences like
this that make you so intriguing, Lorenz.

He was still standing, because she was gauche,
because she needed to think about her grant work,
because it was all she had, becauseYoure in
Fran's way, she said, Sit. He did.

After an interminable pause of perhaps two min-
utes he leaned his chin on his knuckles. You don't
talk me to death either. That's good.

Maybe I just dont have much to say to you.

Sure you do. Hows the larvae count coming?

The man had an unerring knack for divining
what was uppermost in her mind. Like Korff.
One strike against him. Beg pardon?

Those Nansen bottles we brought you from the
escarpment. You know, planktonic larvae? From
Cancer magister? Basis of the local econ

So I've heard, she replied drily. Its too early

to tell, and thanks for doing your job, Matthews.

168 Far Frontiers

Theres lots more lab work to do, mostly at night. I
wish I knew why you cared.

T've got friends in Newport, Lorenz. If the crab-
bing doesnt improve, a lot of furniture gets re-
possessed. His own job, of course, would be se-
cure in any event; yet he spoke as if he really cared
about people. Again, like Korff; strike two.

Not about the crabbing. About me.I dont want
to be bitchy, but why me?

Fran was beside them, sliding a small plate with
a suspiciously large aromatic meat pattie onto the
table. She cast an appreciative eye toward the
newcomer with his wide-set gray eyes and sun-
bleached hair. Something for you?

Doesn't look like it, he grinned up at her. He
waited, watching Fran move off, amused at the
cats-in-a-sack movement of her rump, and caught
Vicki's glance before answering. Why you? Well,
you re dedicated; students claim you're tough, but
fair. And you're a loner like me. You stay in shape.
You dont party a lot. He paused to watch her
separate a bite-sized piece of meat, saw Scrapper
devour it from her hand. And you read damned
fine poetry, and you take in strays. He spread his
hands again for her.

Scrapper happens to be a female. No, I'm not
lezzo, she added quickly.

T never dreamed you were. I know about Korff,
he said softly.

Now he was riding sidelong on a dangerous Pa-
cific swell. Then leave me alone with him! She
hadnt intended to say it that way, nor that sharply.
More subdued: I really just need to be left alone,
Matthews. I really, really Momentarilv, with-
out knowing why, she was near tears with frustra-
tion.

Forgive me, he said, rising. You dont need

EVILEYE 169

this. I just thought you might enjoy hunting agates
on the beach sometime, or a steak at The Moorage
now and then.

T can't afford it.

T can.

T can't afford you, either.

Ah. His answering smile was bleak now. I
suppose theres something to be said for traveling
light. We could keep it light, you know. He got up
slowly, favoring his back like an older man.

Looks like you've put in a long day, too, she
said to change the subject.

They seem to get longer as we get older, he
said.

 We are all her children, and age too soon; Yet
our witch-mother sea is still bride of the moon. 

A fragment of Korff; strike three. Mister
Matthews, you are now invading my privacy, she
said, staring at her plate.

T suppose it never occurs to you that others
might miss him, Matthews said. Or that his work
belongs to us alleven if he did dedicate it to
you.

He had already turned away when she spoke.
He gave himself too easily to the sea.

Pause. Then, over his shoulder: Maybe you'll
explain that sometime.

Maybe I will. But Im rotten company tonight,
Matthews. Im sorry.

He nodded and left her. Presently she withdrew
a square of filmy plastic from her jacket; folded
the remainder of the meat inside. You'll want a
midnight snack before Im done, she muttered to
the kitten, and counted out the coins for Fran's tip.

It was almost ten PM before Vicki had enough
data on the magister egg counts. It was messy

170 Far Frontiers

work with its own special odors. She washed up,
setting out a few fragments of crab for Scrapper,
and carried a tray of remains into the display
room.

Never say Im not fair, she muttered as she
emptied the tray into Evileyes tank. He reached
one tentacle out, suckers flattening against the clear
acrylic to anchor him, and sent two more of his
powerful limbs after large morsels. He was in no
hurry, but watched her warily as he began to feed.

Why had she told Gary Matthews she might
explain her bitter memories of Korff? It would
only make a bad situation worse. It was her firm
conclusion that, among the more intelligent species,
the female became the giver; a genetic bias, per-
haps, in caring for the young. The male, biased
toward the hunt, became a selfish taker.

She watched Evileye reach far across his tank
for a remnant of C. magister with the tentacle that
proved his maleness. Its underside had a faint
groove from which, at mating time, a special ap-
pendage grew. This detachable pseudopod was his
gift to the female. And you wouldn't do it unless
it felt damned good, she said, wondering for the
first time about that particular tentacle.

Big specimens of Evileyes kind were in special
demand for dissection, precisely because every-
thing was so large. Fine structures, the optic nerve,
even the circulatory and neural systems. Perhaps
someone had already made a study of the nerve
pathways of O. dofleini with respect to that special
tentacle. If not, perhaps she would sacrifice Evileye
to that end. It would be a great pleasure.

She noted the series of faint lines, perhaps abra-
sions from the stones in his tank, that marked the
tips of three tentacles that were most directly in
line with those evil eyes. One day soon, you may

EVILEYE 171

give your all for science, she warned, and took
the tray back to her office.

The far end of her narrow office held lab hard-
ware and the sink. Presently she began to chuckle
as she completed her cleanup. It might be possible
for a man as honest as Gary Matthews to admit
that he had a selfish purpose in paying court to a
womanherself, for example. But even under tor-
ture he wouldn't allow the comparison of his own
flesh, his sex tentacle as it were, to that of Evileye.
Still, that was clearly how it was. Basically, all he
wanted was his own selfish pleasure, regardless
who got destroyed in the process. Take a step or
two across the evolutionary ladder and you had a
cunning, highly intelligent male predator who made
not the slightest effort to please anyone in his
lust-driven pursuit.

You had Evileye.

Her wry amusement lasted until she had fed
new figures into her desk computer, saved the up-
dated data on a spare disk, and filed the disk
away. Then she remembered Scrappers late snack
and, still sitting, reached for her pea-jacket. She'd
forgotten to shut the door to the display room, a
common occurrence. But then her gaze followed a
long trapezoid of light into the big room. In the
edge of the blade of light, a saffron bundle of fur
gamboled, fell over its feet, reared, pounced.

A runnel of water, a very small thing really,
edged into the light. Vicki wondered if the big
tank had sprung a leak, and then something else
flicked into the light for a bare, ghastly, enervat-
ing instant, and in that tick of time her heart went
as cold as primeval ooze.

She knew how suddenly, and with what lethal
precision, Evileye could lash out with that tenta-
cle which now lay stretched over the lips of his

172 Far Frontiers

tank, its tip flicking in the edge of the light, tanta-
lizing the innocent Scrapper into mock attacks. If
she screamed or bolted into the big room, she
would be too late. Evileye might have been luring
the kitten forward for long minutes. Noiselessly,
not daring to look away, Vicki pulled open the top
left drawer of her desk and groped for the revolver.

But the cold metal object she grasped was not
the revolver; it was merely a paperweight, long
forgotten until this moment of mortal need. Now,
straining to see into the gloom, she could see
Evileye, crowded hard against the near wall of his
tank, one huge eye wide, staring down at the kit-
ten which was busily stalking the lure and did not
see the second hawser-thick rope of muscle slid-
ing along the floor behind it.

Biting her lip, mewling with desperation, Vicki
wrenched open a second drawer, then a third, and
then remembered with thunderclap clarity that
she'd left the goddamn revolver in her apartment
a month before. In her middle drawer was a dissec-
tion knife that she used as a letter-opener. If that
was all she had for an attack on a monster twice
her size, then that, by God, would have to do. She
leaped to her feet, grasped the heavy Nansen bot-
tle with her free hand and prepared to toss it
against the tank in the wild hope that it might
prove an instants diversion. She took two steps,
raised the metal canister, and paused.

Scrapper had already found her goal. The kitten
had wrapped both forepaws around one leathery
tip, and kicked with both hind feet against the
tentacle in pretend ferocity. The second flanking
tentacle had reached the kitten. Slowly, repeatedly,
the tip of the second tentacle rubbed the back of
Scrappers neck, moving up between her ears and
back again.

EVILEYE 173

Vicki Lorenz, her knees failing, slid against the
near wall of her office, so near collapse that she
dropped the Nansen bottle. At the muffled clang,
Scrapper came to her feet in a liquid gymnastic,
then turned again to resume her little game.
Evileye, staring expressionlessly from his world,
seemed equally willing. Moments later he had the
kitten on its back as he tickled its almost hairless
belly.

As Vicki walked on unsteady legs into the room,
slipping the dissection knife into a back pocket,
Evileye moved one eye to keep her in view. Simul-
taneously, he slid his tentacles back with such
guilty speed that one of them actually made an
audible plop into the water. The kitten sat up
and began to lick its breast.

You didnt know I was watching, Evileye. So I
believe you. Her voice shook so much, Vicki
scarcely recognized it as her own. Now I see how
you got all those scratches. How many nights, I
wonder.

Now he wrapped three of his rearmost tentacles
around heavy stones in the tank; solid purchase
for a quick retreat. Yet he stayed near the wall of
the tank, watching as Vicki stooped to pull Scrap-
per into the crook of one arm.

Scrapper doesn't know how sharp her little
claws are; why do you let her scratch you up like
that? Hell, why do J? Maybe friends all have claws,
now that you mention it. You just have to be
willing to bleed a little. Her voice, echoing in the
big room, sounded doubly foolish. She didn't give
a damn; at least it wasnt so shaky anymore.

Then she laughed aloud. Let me tell you some-
thing, Evileye: Ive pigged out on crab, too. Maybe
we should pick friends for what they're selfish
about, hm? She didnt really expect the big brute

174 Far Frontiers

to take her hand when she placed it in the water;
and he didn't.

But when she squatted and eased Scrapper up
against the clear plastic of the tankthe kitten did
not care for its chill surfaceone careful tentacle
snaked out along the acrylic inside the tank, its tip
moving as if in symbolic caress. Vicki placed her
hand flat, fingers apart tentacle-like, opposite the
appendage.

Later she would wonder if she had imagined it;
but as the tentacle became still, Evileye did two
things: he opened both eyes wide, and he changed

from gray to a hue that was ruddy as her own
sunburnt skin.

That does it, buster; but itll have to look like
an accident.

Among the list of emergency numbers she found
Matthews, Gary. He answered at the fifth ring. If
youre only watching Johnny Carson, she said,
how would you like to help me out here at the
lab? Yes, tonight. The sooner the better.

During his reply she rubbed Scrappers neck.
Then: Tts not illegal, but you'll think its crazy as
hell... . Okay, twenty minutes, but one more thing:
you must never, ever, tell anyone.

She listened a moment more. Then, with a sigh:
All right then: we're going to fishnap a two-
hundred-pound octopus. Still with me? Right; fif-
teen minutes, she said, laughing.

She put down the receiver and strolled back into
the display room with its horrific central exhibit.
She leaned forward on the tank lip, certain that no
member of O. dofleini could understand her words,
saying them anyway. I could set up subtle light-
ing and get videotapes; I know, dont tempt me.
Maybe I will, with one of your brothers. But not

EVILEYE 175

with you, Evileye. It'll be a bitch to fake your trail,
but we've got all night.

And maybe, she thought, one day she would tell
the details to Gary Matthews, While sharing a
London broil, or combing Agate Beach some sum-
mer evening. She nuzzled her kitten and winked at
Evileye, her buoyancy an almost physical sensation.
After long years of self-imposed exile in green twi-
light depths, she was rising now, soaring upward
to the light and to her own element; to life. The
least she could do was return Evileye to his.

NOTHING ON THIS EARTH
COULD STAND AGAINST IT

| ih

Lycon was the greatest of the beast hunters
who fed the bloody maw of Rome's Coliseum.
How was he to know that the creature
he sought this time was not only as cunning
as he...but came from a world
more vicious than he could imagine ?

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

Mass Merchandise Sales Company
288 pp. - $2.95 ee 1230 Avenue of the Americas - New York, NY. 10020

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE

by
John Park

The computer revolution has only just begun.

Classical science fiction had few accurate predic-
tions about computers. Most of the golden age
stories pictured computers as enormous, and not
very smart. Even Robert Heinlein, master though
he was, continued to think of computers as ex-
panded fire control systems until well into the
60s. The notion that computers would be small,
and cheap, was a long time sinking into the collec-
tive SF consciousness.

In fact, science fiction was more willing to be-
lieve in robots than computers. Asimov wrote sto-
ries of robots almost indistinguishable from humans
at a time when computers were still thought to be
large and partly mechanicalalthough it requires
little reflection to see that a robot is much harder
to build than a computer, and any robot capable
of acting like a human must have an excellent
computer for a brain.

Even after home computers became more com-
mon, and some of us were using them, really imagi-
native stories of future civilizations built around
computers wereand arerare. Most tend to be
about the giant computer that takes over the world;
few tell much of everyday life in the computer age.
I do recall at a meeting of the American Institute
of Aeronautics and Astronautics in Baltimore sev-
eral years ago that Dr. Charles Sheffield wondered
whether, in future, TV announcers doing commer-
cials might hold up, instead of a laxative to pro-

177

178 Far Frontiers

mote regularity, a computer chip that you could
plug into your nervous system to reprogram cer-
tain bodily functions; but I dont believe Charles

ever wrote a story about it.
John Park is a Canadian writer who does have a

feel for that future.

The clang of drowned bells and the prickle of cin-
namon gravel: I was hooked into the ships sensors,
listening to magnetic fields and tasting cosmic rays,
when Sheenas call came on line. The implant in
my cortex sounded a faint chime and switched me
to the navigation sensors. Over there, once more,
was the glittering tangle of the starship complex,
there the pale fat pillow of Jupiter; there lay Europa
like a great fractured crystal ball, and somewhere
over my imaginary shoulder was the cruel stab-
bing point of the sun. The implant hung a red
circle around Dawson Base on Europa to show me
where the call was coming from, and then Sheena
appeared.

Just head and shoulders, her hair tied back, so
that the streak of grey above her left temple was
hidden among the black. The LED interface socket
at her right temple was empty; for a moment I
wished shed used wide-band transmission. With
the implants knitting into the synapses, wide-
banding can be almost as good as real sexsome
people claim its better. In any case, its the best
you can do across twenty kiloklicks. But this wasn't
the time.

She said, You nearly through out there, Martin?

Just finishing Harleys data; it peaked four hours
ago. Practically down to background again now.
What's up?

T just got in from orbit. The backup for the
communications net is downsoftware problems.
Dave called to tell you: he thinks its sabotage.

Dave thinks metal fatigue and sunset and tooth-
aches are sabotage. Why does he have to call me
every time?

Be nice, she said. Andweve got visitors.

Oh yes? Who?

Surprise. And besides .. .

180

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 181

Yeah?

Miss you. She grinned. Been dreaming of vam-
pires again.

So I cut short the rest of Harleys data, and went
into my nightflier mode. I spread my wings and
planed through the eternal dark, watching the
worlds turn about me and the stars hanging poised,
and feeling just a little eternal myself.

With the ship parked at the orbital relay, I had
to disconnect myself for the shuttle down to Europa.
Its always disorienting, being penned in your own
body again after your senses have been opened to
the whole electromagnetic spectrum and more. The
drop in free fall gave me time to adjust; and
anyway, I didnt want to find myself addicted to
using the implants.

The carways were less bright than usual when I
made my way from the terminal; it took me a
moment to realize that all the advertising holos
were dark. Evidently the communications break-
down was more serious than I'd expected. And
when I got into Number 2782 the IndiVid, which
should have been ready to feed holos into our
implants, was dead. Instead, the holo-vid was on,
with a newscast from Earth showing riots and
anti-tech demonstrations under smog-yellow skies.
Sheena was curled up on the air-mat in front of it,
but the wall screen was lit beside her. It was ablaze
with enhanced stars and the immense glittering
latticework of the starship construction bay, and I
could tell from her posture and the look on her
face that she wouldn't be awake to anything else. I
watched her, then went over and took her hands. I
whispered, No, Sheena. Its not for us. We've got
too many recessive genes; Sol is the only star we
get to visit.

I studied her face as she turned to me. A broken

182 Far Frontiers

dream transforming to quiet joy in the curve of a
cheek, the smoothing of a brow. Her face was thin,
with a straight nose and high cheekbones. That
evening she was wearing the brown jump suit that
matched her eyes, and some of our magic jewelry:
antique carbon resistors and metal oxide capaci-
tors strung together as bracelet and necklace. Her
hair was loose and it billowed behind her in the
flow from the air mat, silvered by the unreachable
stars. I wasn't using the RAM option on the implant,
but some things stay in the memory. Whenever I
think of Sheena now, thats how I see her.

We had an hour to ourselves, to play; we used
our new invention which produced modulated
radio-frequency radiation to stimulate certain
neuron-implant interfaces. The generators were hid-
den in the antique jewelry; feedback and modula-
tion were provided through our implants. The effect
was like a direct line to the pleasure center. Away
from the two foci, though, the interference pat-
terns played absolute hell with any unshielded
electronicsincluding other implantswhich is one
reason why emitters at those frequencies are ille-
gal on Europa. But we'd shielded our bedroom
meticulously, and no one ever found out.

Afterwards I left to see Dave and his theories
about the communications breakdown and to de-
liver Harley's data, while Sheena went to meet our
still-secret guests.

I found Dave Stromberg hooked up to an inter-
face bank in the back of the auxiliary communica-
tions room. While I waited for him to disconnect, I
stood by the window and watched a group of steel-
workers from the starship marching under the fluo-
rescents on their way to the red light district. I
decided I could cope with Dave's paranoia today,

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 183

as long as he didn't start whining or insisting on
calling me Mr. Juarez.

He unhooked and came over, smoothing his white
smock, his red hair flopping over his eyes. God,
it's a mess in there. Bastards are starting to play
rough. I couldn't even get in far enough to do a
proper diagnosis. I'm glad you came, Mr. Juarez;
you don't know

Call me Martin, Dave. Now, just who dyou
think is starting to play rough?

T dont know, do I? Youre in the reserve Militia,
not me.I cant do it all, Mr. Juarez. But if we don't
stop them soon, the whole citys going to be one
big software crash.

I sighed. It seemed everyone in Dawson was in
the reserve Militia, with nothing to do because it
all came to me. What makes you so sure this isnt
just another power bump or something?

Look at this. He showed me a holo of the
circuit bank, filled with a tracery of red lines.
Look, the thing's tied itself in knot. That doesn't
just happen; someone fed a virus program into it.
Only thing it could have been.

You sure about that?

Of course, he said, tugging his sleeves straight,
and I knew the whine was coming. If only some-
one would listen to me, and tighten the defenses
on the software. Ive worked up codes that'll keep
out anything on the market. Guaranteed. But they
won't listen. They keep piling the whole system
onto the same software base. They think Im crazy.
Just you, Mr. Juarez, you listen to me.

I swallowed a couple of things and said, Dave,
if this is sabotage, do you have anything that could
give us a lead, any evidence at all?

He frowned, gnawing his forefinger. But its so
obvious someones doing it.... Yeah, Ive got it:

184 Far Frontiers

the way those latchings are usedits like Amato-
Singhs work.

You mean the Mars traffic control program? I
said, managing to keep a straight face.

They're like that, but the sequencings different;
someone who knows how to modify

The whine had gone again; he was starting to
invoke the arcana of his art. I cut him off. Okay,
Dave, thanks. I'll see if I can get this checked out.

Talk to them about my defenses, too, Mr.
Juarez.

Right, Dave.

I was sorry my patience with Dave had worn
thin, but he had been finding sabotage and design-
ing software defenses against it for so long that
keeping him at arms length was a reflex now. His
holo of the circuit bank did not look peculiar,
though.

After that I decided I didnt want to experience
Harley as well just then, so I left a message with
his cyber and went to find Sheena and our visitors.

The Arcade is the high-gravity quarter of Daw-
son; its brought up to Earth normal by two old
Blinc-Rigamonti generators, prototypes that hadnt
tested out well enough in vacuum to meet the
starship specs. The management charges three times
a reasonable price for anything you do there, plus
seventy-five a minute for using their gravity; but
its worth the cost just to keep in shape, for those
of us who still think of going back.

Though Sheena had abandoned that dream for a
less realizable one, she still wouldnt admit it to
herself, and it was her idea to meet in Platos Cave
on the far side of the Arcade.

The cyber at the lock took my identifiche in its
claw and passed it under its scanner. Its metal

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 185

arm was still bright, and something in the way it
moved suggested the whole cyber was new. I won-
dered briefly who it had been, and what he or she
had been convicted of, or had died of. The cyber
checked my prints, skin and breath analyses, and
my implant code, then handed my fiche back. The
lock rotated half a revolution and swung open.

I moved carefully through the gravity gradient
at the entrance until my body had adjusted to full
weight. Past the memorial fir trees in their hydro-
ponics I came to the Square, where half a dozen
steelyarders on two-year hitches at the starship
were clustered around a news holo. They were
identifiable by the lack of LED couplers in their
temples, and by the way they watched the holo. It
was showing the last stages in the trial of a hydro-
ponics technician for embezzling air rations. Third
offense. If/whenthe cybers computed him guilty,
he would be carted off to the meat shop, and the
salvageable part of his brain turned into a useful
cyber. The steelyarders obviously knew about our
justice, and didn't like it; I could feel their eyes on
my own LED coupler as I walked past.

A grizzled man in plumbers green in need of a
wash stumbled across my path, his hands groping
in front of him. He stopped with a sudden grin,
and his head swung from side to side as though he
were listening for something, while his eyes snapped
back and forth in some kind of scanning raster.
Then he went on again. I knew the symptoms.
Going silicon, they called it, though the implants
were all bio-organic semiconductors and had been
for twenty yearswhich was why they could
infiltrate the neural circuitry and start to take
over.

Past the Square was an old-fashioned Earth-type
dark alley, complete with garbage in the gutter

186 Far Frontiers

andthis timetwo fuel-tug jockeys, both male,
linked temple to temple by an optic cable, and
squirming together in electro-neuronic ecstacy.

One thing about the Arcade: you can be sure its
not going to change much from month to month.

I reached the Cave, and found Sheena as I'd
expected, sitting by the starwindow, watching a
fuel-scoop labor up from Jupiter, loaded with light
isotopes for the starship. Two people were sitting
opposite her: a blond young woman in a green
jump suitand Victor Six]. I had known him for
seven years, but I hardly recognized him. He was
thinner than I remembered, his hair was tawny
rather than red, and streaked with grey, and there
were more lines on his face than I had ever ex-
pected to see. His eyes were sunken, and they held
an expression I could not fathom. Wanting to ask,
My God, whats been happening to you? I said,
Well, hi, Victor; its been a hell of a long time.

He smiled broadly, transforming his face; then
he jumped up and shook hands with a sudden
nervous intensity. Under his heavy brows his eyes
seemed to glitter.

Three years, Martin, he said with a grin. Its
aged you. Made you look mature.

Thanks.

We sat down; he introduced Greensleeves as
Frederika, and explained that they had arrived on
Europa three weeks earlier from the Ultra Long-
wave Telescope complex on Ceres, and had just
found out that we were here. Thought you two
were still ice-fishing on Ganymede. Come on, the
first bottles on us. None of that wine you kept
trying to poison me with; this is a celebration. So
we punched for hard liquor at high-g prices. As we
drank, I noticed his eyes again: intense and con-
stantly searching, while Frederikas seemed to

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 187

watch everything with ironic patience. He turned
to Sheena. You still piloting that overgrown
firecracker?

Arturo? Sheena said with a grin. Did Newton
like apples? Arts the last one around now, so I've
no competition for spares and Ive taken options
on all the solid booster production of the four
satellites. As long as there's someone to sell me
fuel, and Arturo holds together, I'll keep him
running, you bet.

Tts good to know some things don't change. I bet
you re still a walking arsenal, too.

She took off her necklace. This is the latest. I
had thought for a moment she was going to show
him her half of our rf generator, but instead she
twisted open one of the fat megohm resistors. It
came apart and she put half on the table. After four
seconds it gave off a flash like a welding arc. When
our eyes adjusted again, there was just a blackened
shell on the star-flecked glass top. Useful distraction
in emergencies, said Sheena. Or for signaling
though I dont know where I'd be if I had to use that
to call for help. Actually its just an ordinary photo-
detonator for blasting sticks, dolled up in that casing.
Its perfectly safe.

Frederika nodded and smiled lazily, drawing the
tip of one slim finger down the condensation on her
glass.

Victor was examining the necklace. You always
were a witch with those things, he said, handing it
back. A real witch.

Sheena laughed. Noones called me that for three
years. Martin says Im a lost sea nymph; but then
hes just a vampire in disguise.

Well, said Frederika, leaning towards me and
toying with a copper ankh at her throat, he does
look the part.

188 Far Frontiers

Victor turned from Sheena to me and then back.
You both seem happy here, he said. Thats good,
but have you ever thought of leaving, moving out-
ward?

Sheena looked at him. That might be interest-
ing .
You mean to Titan? I said. From what I've
heard they dont have B-R generators there at any
price. We'd never get back.

You're right about the generators, said Victor.
But they also don't have troubleyet.

Frederika nodded and leaned forward to fix me
with ultramarine eyes under long blond lashes. We
left ULT because the complex was getting just too
dangerous to live in. They had power failures all the
time. The computer wouldcrashandcripplethe whole
station. We'd have to live without the air recyclers
for ten hours. And one time all the thermostatting
failed for a day.

Victor leaned forward as well. TI tell you, Sheena,
its bad trouble back there, and its coming from
further in.

Sabotage? I said for the second time in two
hours. Do you know who's doing it?

No, we don't. He turned his eyes on me. Ah,
you have suspicions too. Has it got this far already?

Just a few glitches, and some petty vandalism,  I
said, not too convincingly.

Perhaps you're still safe then, Victor said. Lets
drink to that.

As we lowered our glasses, Sheena said, to break
the mood, Hey dyou remember that time on Gany-
mede when all the lights went out on number
Eleven?

They both started laughing before she had finished
the sentence, and then Victor started telling herabout

that time on Dione when ... I stopped listening,

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 189

and had another drink, remembering Dave and his
fantasies, and wondering how safe we would all be
in another three years.

We ordered more drinks. Frederika started telling
me about Ceres, and how they'd spent the long voy-
age up to Jupiter. On the screen, the fuel-tug rendez-
voused with its shuttle. By the time it had exchanged
full tanks for empty, and dived back toward Jupiter
for another load, Frederika was starting to describe
some of the more interesting things she'd found todo
in zero-g.

But by then Victor and Sheena were sitting at the
same side of the table, and he was handing her a
cassette cube, which she placed against the coupler
in her temple and replayed. I saw her face change
then; I saw the same expression I'd scen when |
came in and found her by the wall screen. I wanted
to say something, ask what was going on, but she'd
turned to Victor with that look still on her face, and
he was talking quietly and intensely to her, and she
was all attention, and the glass in my hand came up
to my mouth without my thinking about it.

Later I noticed they were whispering together the
way spacemen did in the pulps when their radios
had failedhelmets together to conduct the sound
except that Icould see they weren't wearing helmets.

Soon after that I noticed how far Frederika's green
jump suit had opened down the front.

We must all have kept drinking for a while, because
the next thing I remember, it was dark, and I was
upside down, but it didnt matter, because gravity
was Europa normal again and I was half floating.
Someone giggled, and I found I was struggling with
the fastenings of the green jump suit. I realized the
reason I was having difficulty was that she kept
trying to string an optic cable between our temples,
while I kept trying to stop her. She seemed to have

190 Far Frontiers

her end of it secured, but it came free as she brought
the other end towards my head, and then I got the
last of the fastenings undone, and the cable went
drifting away to a far corner of the room.

Much, much later, I was sprawled across my ham-
mock, with my stomach contents indistinguishable
from my brains, and alone. I spent some time trying
to understand exactly what had happened, and then
some more time wondering if I could move. Finally I
pushed myself out of the hammock and found my
way to the bathroom. When I came back, slightly
more human, I noticed the length of optic cable
coiled behind our herbarium. I picked it up. It wasn't
a local product. Wincing, I made the implant adjust
my eyes to read the makers name etched onto its
coupling boss. Van Strien. The name was vaguely
familiar, but there was no reference to it in my
hardware.I wrapped the cable around my hand, and
closed my fist so that it made a knuckleduster, but I
was just procrastinating; I didnt even know what I
wanted to hit. So I threw the cable back into the
corner and went next door to look for Sheena.

She was there, strapped at her work bench so that
she could use both hands without floating away. She
didn't speak or look up when I came in. I stood
behind her, waiting, and finally muttered, You've
taken up sculpture again. She was bent over a block
of brownish plastic, working on it with fast, nervous
movements of a scalpel, and she went on as though
she hadn't heard me.I was still feeling too sick to get
mad, so I swallowed and put my hands on her
shoulders. Sheena. What is it?

She stopped working abruptly, turned her head,
and blinked. Its going to be a pair of bookends, 
she said. A souvenir for Victor. Hes leaving, you
know.

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 191

She turned and bent over the plastic again. Ive
got to finish them.

She seemed to have forgotten I was there. I walked
out, and heard the door click behind me.

I decided to take Harley his cosmic ray data. He
had started going silicon months before; now he was
almost incapable of getting outside, and he relied on
people like me tosupply data forhisresearch projects.
I found him curled up in his hammock, sucking
synthavite from one of half a dozen squirt bulbs,
while an optic cable snaked out of a mass of wiring
and microprocessor cubes to his temple. After thirty
seconds or so he noticed me.

Harley, I said, you look like hell.

His eyes flickered; he lifted one hand, and let it
float down. Yeah, suppose I do. Dont feel like hell,
though. You look like hell; whats up? Heyyou
got the numbers? That why you're here?

Right, Harley. But give me a diskpak. No way
Im messing with your synapses, man.

Do you good, he said, widen your outlook
beyond the sins of the flesh. But he handed over
the diskpak.

Its a peculiar, clinical sensation, interfacing with
a machine; I still dont understand the attraction.
I handed him the loaded cube and watched him
devour the data. The change in his expression while
he was hooked up made me uncomfortable. There
was a kind of hunger in it that looked unpleas-
antly familiar. I didnt want that sort of need work-
ing on me or on anyone I cared about.

He took more than two minutes, and by the end I
was looking for something to keep my mind oc-
cupied. He came out of it looking drained, and I
handed him a coil of optic cable that had been
lying beside me.

192 Far Frontiers

Harley, is all this stuff made locally?

He nodded, his mouth twitching, his eyes blink-
ing independently. I glanced away from his face,
and said, A firm named Van Strien makes some;
know anything about them?

Van Strien, he muttered, and from the way
his eyes steadied, I could tell he was running a
memory search. His hands jerked. Yeah. Van
Strien of Olympiathats Mars, not the Big Tube
they make optical hardware. Stuffs pretty good
for the price. Seventy klicks per dB at five hun-
dred nanometers. But its not worth the import
cost if you're thinking of buying, Martin. Im not
paying you that much for mass spec data.

I shrugged. Just curious. Saw the name on a
piece of cable someone was showing me. One or
two things were beginning to slot together in my
mind, but they weren't making much sense yet.

I left Harley muttering and twitching in his own
digitally enhanced universe again, and decided I'd
better get hold of Victor and Frederika. I didn't
know their address, but Sheena would have to. I
found a call box with its Operational light still
glowing, but when my call had wormed its way
through a tangle of static, all I reached was our
cyber telling me that Sheena was busy and could
not be disturbed. Before I could set about overrid-
ing that, the static got worse, and the line died on
me.

I thought about it, and decided I wasnt ready to
go back and start a fight with Sheena, and that
Dave was my next best bet.

I caught the shuttle car to the communications
center, and found Dave at his desk, trying to cope
with half a dozen crises at once.

It's spreading, he muttered. They're really
flaying us now.

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 193

This time I didnt feel like smiling. Whats hap-
pening exactly?

Virus programs in half the network. Im shut-
ting down the sections one by one and sending a
team in to clean them out. But its spreading faster
than we can keep up. He pointed to the holo
array showing traffic in the parking orbit. Thats
the only thing thats a hundred percent right now.
If we can't stop the spread before I go off shift, Im
going to quarantine every piece of software in the
Base, if it means shutting down the city for a
week.

Do you know where its coming from?

Everywhere, nowhere, I dont know. Haven't
you found anything, Mr. Juarez?

Thats what Ive come to see you about. Can
you dig into arrival records and tell me where I
can find one Victor Sixl, and a woman named
Frederika something. Arrived three weeks ago.

He wiped his hair back from his eyes. Christ, I
don't even know if that much is still up. He
plugged a cable into his temple, frowned, then
shook his head and began keying commands into
his desk console. After a few seconds he nodded.
Okay, here we are. Victor Sixl, Frederika von
Mannheim he paused, staring at the screen
arrived twenty-seventh from Phobos, with a stop-
over at Ceres ULT. Moved twice since they got
here. Now at three-zero-one theta, sector four. You
think theyre the ones behind this, Mr. Juarez?

He sounded anxious. I shook my head. No, just
some people who might give me some more clues.
Thanks, Dave.

I caught the next car to sector four. Three-zero-
one was closed and, when I used my Militia pass
key, empty. They had moved again; I was less
surprised than I might have been. I tried calling

194 Far Frontiers

Sheena twice, got through for half a minute the
second time, and met the same response from our
cyber as before.

I had been on the return car for two minutes
when it came to a dead stop, with all its cybers
inactive, evidently as the result of a crash at the
transit control. It took me five hours to work my
way out of the transit tunnel, and then through
corridors packed with angry steelyarders and closed
by emergency doors for half an hour at a time, and
get back to the communications center.

Dave had gone off shift two hours earlier, Marcie
at the next desk told me. Hed been working for
nineteen hours straight, and hed just quarantined
the system when his girlfriend came for him. When
I raised my eyebrows, Marcie started to explain
about the blond woman in green with the old-
fashioned name. I'd hurriedly thanked her, and
was turning to go looking for them, when I noticed
what was on Dave's desk. Yes, Marcie said, they
had been a present from that lady: she'd said he
needed something to make the place look more
friendly.

The present was a pair of brown plastic bookends,
each carved in the shape of an amiable witch with
two fat resistors under her arm.

It took me twenty minutes to get to Dave's
apartment, and another two to convince myself he
wasn t answering, and to use the Militia pass. For
a moment I was certain Id made a fool of myself;
then my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I saw the
two of them clearly. Dave was sprawled across a
couch, bleeding from his face and neck, and he
clutched one end of an optic cable in his left hand.
Frederika was lying about two meters away from
him. The cable was still at her temple, and she
twitched when I closed the door.

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 195

I slapped skin-seal from the apartment's emer-
gency kit over Dave's wounds, and gave him a
transfusion.

As I pulled the needle out, his eyes flickered,
then opened. Worked, Mr. Juarez, he whispered;
my software defenses, they worked. He opened
his right hand to show me a diskpak cube, and
fainted again.

I hesitated, then took the cube and put it in my
pocket and went to look at Frederika. One of her
eyes jerked, tracking me; the other hunted at
random. Her jaw quivered as I approached. Then
her hand twitched, and I saw scalpel tips flicker
from under her fingernails. From her lips came a
sound like the buzz of an idling machine. I swal-

lowed and backed away.

After I had got medical attention for Dave, I
went back to see Harley. He was still curled up in
his hammock, wired into his hardware.

Harley, I said, I want you to tell me about
virus programs. What happened to Amato-Singhs
work on Mars? What makes people go silicon?

Say, Martin, its you again, is it? He returned
to my reality slowly. Ask me one at a time, okay?
I cant do more than one at a time, Martin.

Okay, lets start with virus programs. You feed
them into a computer, and they take it over, con-
trol its software. Theyre weapons, right?

Now they are; but when they started out, they
were just a way of making best use of whatever
hardware was free at the moment.

Okay, but now they're weapons. Who makes
them?

You want a list? It'll be out of date by the time I
give it to you.

Who makes them on Mars?

196 Far Frontiers

Lots of people. His eyes flickered, steadied.
You know what happened to Syrtis?

No.

That's right. Nobody does. No ones supposed
to know anything happened, but it just vanished
off the map for six days as far as communications
were concerned. But the word is that someone was
developing Amato-Singhs codes into weapons soft-
ware there.

Okay. That fits. Now, the other end of the thing.
Could there be a program that alters the behavior
of our implants, that makes them start to take
over the user?

Now there's a funny thing. No one here knows
what factors make someone like me amenable and
you not. Plenty of ideas, but no real data. But I
know three groups were doing research on that
five years ago; two of them on Mars. So either
they've all failed to make one iota of progress
since then, or they're not being allowed to publish.
I know which one I'd believe.

Right, I said. Okay, now put it all together.
Could we have a virus program that takes over the
implant, and makes that take over the carrier,
turns him into an agenta vector that passes the
virus to others and infects any software around?
Because if there could be such a thing, Harley, we
may have a plague on our hands.

He considered, and was starting to speak when
we heard the explosion.

I shoved him back into his hammock and dashed
to the communications center; I got there in time
to get several lungfuls of smoke helping to get the
fire under control and the wounded out. The last
part of the center which had been working fully,
the orbital traffic monitor, was going to be down
for two or three days. It took me a minute to

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 197

realize what that meant, and then I took the first
working car home.

Sheena had gone, of course.

I walked around the apartment cursing my
stupidity. I was only reserve Militia, and no one on
Europa had any real experience of major crime.
But that didnt help.

I looked at her workroom. It was the same room
it had always been, and yet it would never be the
same again. Tools and ICs were scattered across
the workbench. Holos of Vesuvius, Fuji, Olympus
on the side wall. Half a dozen music cubes among
the tree-fern pots. I picked up one of the cubes.
Four-D Damnation by Mohwald and the Wolf Pack.
It had come out when we were both in the tunnel-
ing teams on Ganymedewhen we'd met. We still
kept playing it, though neither of us liked the piece
very much. I opened my fingers and wished there
was enough gravity to smash the cube on the edge
of the bench; it merely glanced off with a faint
click and floated to the floor, and left me still
wondering what else I could have done, what I
was going to do for the rest of my time in Dawson,
and why I had to stand there in that unbearable
room.

The cube had landed among some curls of brown
plastic from Sheenas carving. I bent and picked
one up, touched it to my tongue.

In some sense I'd known what it was ever since
I'd smelt the smoke in the communications center,
but Id been ignoring the knowledge, because I
hadnt wanted to think about what must have hap-
pened to Sheenas mind to make her carve solid
booster fuel into a bomb.

Now I realized that was how I'd find her again. I
recorded a report for Henriksen of Security, started
to feed it to his cyber, then realized what I was

198 Far Frontiers

doing and made my way to his office. There I
eventually found a pen and some paper, and left a
longhand summary on his desk. Then I climbed to
the departure lock and waited for an orbital shuttle.

Drowned bells and cinnamon gravel. I was look-
ing for something other than cosmic rays this time,
and I adjusted the settings of the mass spectrometer.
I found the salty drizzle of caesium ions from the
thrusters of transfer ships, and then I found what I
wanted. Carbon dioxide, metal particles, ice, and
soot with absorbed organics: I could track the ex-
haust from Sheenas boosters, and even estimate
the thrust vector from the intensity distribution. I
spread my wings and set out after them. For two

hours I followed the trail; they seemed to be in a
transfer orbit for Ganymede, but were still burn-
ing fuel. The radar was a clutter of space junk
without an identifiable echo. Finally I detected a
burst of power, a course change. I lost the trail for
half an hour, burned docking fuel to backtrack,
found it again, and twenty minutes later I was
sure where they were heading.

I examined Dave's defense cube and made what
preparations I could, and five hours later was put-
ting out grapples to dock at the starship bay.

The kliegs and welding arcs were dead; the
scaffolding seemed deserted, and most of the per-
sonnel craft had gone. I could see Sheenas ship
pulled in against the cylindrical service dock. Oth-
erwise there was just the dark lattice of the scaf-
folding and the cetacean bulk of the starship itself.
I guessed that they'd had computer trouble too,
and had cleared the site until it was sorted out.

In response to my Militia call sign, a passenger
tube was extruded and mated to my air-lock. I

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 199

checked that I was as ready as I could be and
climbed into it.

The official who met me seemed genuine enough.
He pointed out that the site was undergoing a
Class Three emergency, and while I could not be
required to leave since I had Militia authority, I
would be there at my own risk. He checked my
fiche with a cyber, and then said that as there
were not likely to be any more visitors, he would
be glad to accompany me in my investigations.

His eyes were moving independently.

No, I said; I dont want to put you to any
trouble.

He followed me to the exit. I must insist. When
I turned, there was a pistol in his hand.

Thought you people were strictly software, I
said. You sure you know how to handle that?

He ignored that and waved me into a storage
hold. Victor was there with four others, and a
mass of electronics. The five were all enmeshed in
wiring. Their eyes were open, but they did not
appear to see me. Then Victor stirred; his eyes
focused; he stripped the cable from his temple,
freed himself of a tangle of wires, and came toward
me. Martin, he said, Im glad it was you who
came.

I said half-truthfully: You realize of course that
the head of Security knows Im searching for you.
If I dont report back in thirty minutes, the alarm
will go out and they'll come looking. Theyll have
a platoon of riot troops here within twenty-four
hours.

Im sure you're right, Victor said. But we
won t be here by then. Nor will most of this.

I didnt say anything. I knew what a kilo of
rocket fuel could do as an explosive; they had a
ton of it in Sheenas ship.

200 Far Frontiers

He saw my expression. You don't understand,
Martin. Yes, we destroy, but we are fighting for
our existence. We are the hunted; your kind is the
hunter. Im not being figurative: there are men
from the inner worlds seeking us now. If we didn't
take this course, it would be only a matter of time
before we were identified and destroyed. As it is,
we have saved ourselves as individuals, and helped
preserve our race. If Europa and the other worlds
we have seeded do survive, it will be as our colonies.
Then, perhaps, we may return.

I said, Youve just explained why we hunt you.

You find me callous? I find you ridiculous. You
and your kind hold the greatest evolutionary ad-
vance since the flint hand-axe, literally in your
heads, and you treat it as a toythose of you who
aren't too afraid to use it at all. You're still the
same death-haunted creatures that daubed the
Lascaux caves. Why should I care for such a race,
even if it did not hate me? Our survival now de-
pends on abandoning the past. It is regrettable,
but you have forced us to it. Instead, we have
embraced the future, let it change us. And it has
made us immortal.

He gestured to the banks of electronics. We can
inhabit a matrix of semi-conductors as comforta-
bly as that complex of fats and proteins we were
born into. In a few hours we shall do so. Yet our
perceptions will be wider than any possible for
either flesh or machine alone. We are what you
have turned back from, Martin, and you are paying
a greater price in knowledge and intelligencein
wisdomthan you can hope to comprehend. That
shell of a starship is not ready for human occupants,
but it is already sufficient for our needs. We will
destroy here what we cannot use, but with that
ship and its tanks of helium as refrigerant, we will

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 201

be free to explore our own natures until the solar
system is fit to receive us.

They ll come after you; they!l want that ship.

They have enough chaos of their own to deal
with at the moment, he said. And besides, you
will be here to misdirect and delay them. I assure
you, you will be eager to do so.

Now we were getting to the point. You'll have
to damage me beyond repair if you want to get
that program into me, I said. T'll fight anyone
who comes near.

Victor nodded, and one of the others freed him-
self and went behind the array of electronics. He
came back leading Sheena.

You've gone pale, Martin, Victor said. Are
you afraid?

No, I said thickly, not afraid.

T assure you, shes unharmed. Once she is
through the incubation period, she will be fully
one of us, and we have enough facilities on the
starship to help her through the hardest phase.
You yourself will be helping her now. In its early
stages, the program demands to be transmitted.
Failure to do so becomes quite distressing to the
carrier. Or do you intend to fight her too?

Before I could move, the man who had brought
me seized my arms from behind. Victor produced
a length of optic cable, and Sheena came toward
me. I could still have twisted, bitten and kicked
but not without hurting her.

The connections were made to our temples, and
the circuit opened between us. I was aware of
darkness, and a threat.

Sheena, I whispered.

The darkness eddied, thickened. Something was
creeping toward me.

Sheena, its me.

202 Far Frontiers

Martin. Her voice was thin and remote, like a
worn-out recording. I tried to stop it.

T know, I said. Its all right.

The thing in the dark reached out.

T can't hold it back, Martin. Im sorry. Im so
SOIry.

Its all right. Just follow me.

As Dave's defense programs met the intruder in
a burst of crimson, I twisted the control on my
half of our rf generator. Sheena swayed as the
counterattack shocked her through the implant,
but her fingers went to the silvery capacitor at the
center of her necklace. She twisted it and fell
forward, and I ripped the cable from her temple
and caught her in my arms as the world blew up

in rainbow fire.

I held her and shivered and wept, and felt her
shivering against me as the modulations passed
between us. For a moment I could believe that
nothing had changed since the previous evening
when I had found her watching the wall screen.
Then I became aware of the others, thrown into
convulsions by the induction field. I lowered Sheena
to the ground and turned to see the official with
the gun trying to rise to his knees and make his
fingers close on the butt of the weapon. I kicked
him under the jaw and took the gun away.

Victor got to his feet, took two steps toward me,
and fell again. I went and grabbed him by the
hair.

Victor! Can you hear me?

Turn it off.

Not yet.

T can't tell you where we came from. None of
us can. Its blocked. Turn it off.

That's not what I want, I said. How can I

THE SOFTWARE PLAGUE 203

stop what's happening to her? How do I get her
back?

You can't. Shes one of us. The program will
destroy her if you try to cancel it. Turn it off.
You re too late.

Am I? I carried Sheena to the door, made sure
the rf generators had enough power to run for
several hours, and threw them back into the stor-
age bay. Then I ran with her to the airlock.

I got Sheena back to Europa, and Henriksen
finally sent over a ship to collect what was left of
the saboteurs. But Victor was right. It was too late
for her. In the next weeks I watched the program
take over the rest of her mind. Daves software
enabled us to clean up the mess in Dawson before
it got much worse. Most of the carriers wound up
as cybers, but all Security ever extracted from any
of them about where the program had come from,
or why, was the name Helsing. Henriksen swears
he'll track down this Helsing, whoever he is, and
make him pay, and Im sure he will. Unless I find
him first.

It needed some wire-pulling, but I got Sheenas
brain out of Dawson. I had her cleared for the
starship and wired into the sensor bank. Since
then the ship had been completed, named the
Gilgamesh, and fueled for its voyage. Tomorrow its
trials will be complete and it goes into transfer
orbit, and after that, I'll have no more reason to
stay here. I'll terminate my contract and take the
next light-clipper to Phobos. But I'll watch until
the starship is out of sight, and pray that some-
where behind the crystal eyes and metal nerves,
among the semiconductors and the cyberprotein,
there is still the ghost of an awareness that once
ached for such a journey through night to the infi-
nite stars.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

CHEAP SHOTS

by
G. Harry Stine

Im writing this on election night, 1984. In less
than a month I will chair the fifth meeting of the
Citizens Advisory Council on National Space Policy.
The Council is a thoroughly unofficial group which
has been able to get its policy papers read at rather
high levels.

Harry Stine is one of the members of the Council.
At its first meeting in 1981, Harry, Gary Hudson,
Larry Niven, and Texas space lawyer Art Dula
were sent off to prepare a draft of the Councils
position on commercialization of space. The result-
ing paper, How To Save Civilization And Make A
Little Money, has been read at all levels of govern-
ment from the White House down.

One of that papers recommendations was that
some government agency other than the Depart-
ment of State be given jurisdiction over private
space ventures. I am pleased to say that just after
Harry wrote this paper, Gary Hudson was invited
to a White House ceremony to witness the signing
of an Executive Order doing just that.

If we can loose the engines of free enterprise in
the space environment, we need no longer worry
about NASA and government appropriations; and
we may have our space colonies sooner than you

think.

SGteaP

G. Harry Stine

So you want to put something in orbit around the
Earth? How do you go about it today?

Your first thought might be to give NASA a call
and book space on an upcoming Space Shuttle
flight. The cost will range from $3,000 for a small
Quick Getaway Special to $39.7 million for a
full dedicated flight. You'll pay in advance and
wait an average of 33 months. Better do this soon,
however. In 1985, the cost jumps to $71 million.

But NASA is no longer the only game in town.
They've got competition. There are at least two
other organizations who will gladly launch your
satellite into orbit right now for a price competi-
tive with the NASA Space Shuttle. Just pick up
the telephone and call Arianespace in Paris, or the
Soviet Union.

The old space race began in 1957 when the Sovi-
ets launched Sputnik-I and ended when Neil Arm-
strong set foot on the Moon. It was strictly a race
for national prestige. The United States won. Theres
still a space race going on, but its different. Very
different.

Today, its a race to launch satellites for profit.

206

CHEAP SHOTS 207

Arianespace is a French-based stock company
formed to produce and market the European Ariane
three-staged expendable rocket. Its stockholders
include 36 European aerospace firms, 11 Euro-
pean banks, and the French version of NASA:
CNES. It boasts a capital of 120 million French
francs subscribed by shareholders in 11 European
countries. As of this writing, Ariane has had seven
flights, two of which were unsuccessful, from the
launch site in Kourou, Guiana on the east coast of
South America. Ariane can put 2,200 pounds into
geosynchronous earth orbit (GEO) where comsats
and metsats must be located. Cost of flying a pay-
load on Ariane is competitive with the Space
Shuttle, but bank financing and other incentives
are available to customers. Ariane has already taken
one Space Shuttle customer: an Intelsat communi-
cations satellite previously booked on the Space
Shuttle.

The super-secretive Soviet Union also stepped
into the marketplace in 1983. They're offering to
launch commercial satellites on their SL12 Pro-
ton rocket from the Tyuratam launch complex
east of the Aral Sea. This is the booster the Soviets
use to launch their Salyut space stations. It can
put upwards of 6,590 pounds into GEO. The Sovi-
ets have never released any data or complete pho-
tos of the SL12, and a user must deliver a payload
and let the Soviets launch it secretly. But the price
is less than that of Ariane, especially if you pay in
hard currency.

Other nations are ready to enter this new space
race with low-cost launch vehicles and services.
The biggest potential competitor is Japan.

The Japanese space program is little known but
extremely advanced and very active. Dr. Hideo
Itokawa of the University of Tokyo got started in

208 Far Frontiers

1955 by launching little Pencil rockets six inches
long and less than an inch in diameter. By Febru-
ary 1970, the Japanese had developed their own
solid-fuel Lambda 4S5 satellite launcher and suc-
cessfully orbited the Ohsumi satellite from Kago-
shima Space Center. Today the Japanese National
Space Development Agency (NASDA) has three
space launch centers, the Lambda and Mu solid
fuel boosters, and the N1 booster based upon the
highly-successful U.S. Delta booster and built in
Japan under license from MacDonnell-Douglas. The
N-II booster with a hydrogen-fueled upper stage is
capable of placing a 772-pound satellite in GEO.
In addition, the Japanese are building and orbit-
ing their own communications, weather, and earth
resources satellites. They're as potent a potential
competitor in space as they ve already proven them-
selves to be in electronics and automobiles.

India has developed a small, inexpensive satel-
lite launcher, the SLV-3, which in its present form
can put 35 pounds into low Earth orbit. This may
not peg India as a potential competitor in the new
space race. But in 1958, the U.S.A strained to launch
Explorer-Iwhich weighed a mere 30.66 pounds.
Look how the U.S.A. program forged ahead. India
can certainly do it faster, learning from our mis-
takes.

The case of India is an excellent example of an
oft-ignored factor of technological progress: What
is impossible for one generation of engineers be-
comes difficult for the next and commonplace for
the third.

Its this principle of trickle-down technology
thats responsible for a totally new phenomenon in
astronautics, yet one in other areas thats as old as
the United States itself: Seven U.S. entrepreneurial
companies are now in the process of designing and

CHEAP SHOTS 209

building privately funded low-cost satellite launch
rockets.

This shouldn't really surprise anyone because,
historically, rocketry started out as a privately
funded and privately researched activity. In the
1920s, rocketry wasn't even an acceptable program
for a government to undertake. Dr. Robert H.
Goddard, as well as dozens of German rocket
experimenters, worked with their own meager funds
or managed to obtain private grants for their work.
The Soviets meagerly funded two groups of rocket
enthusiasts in Leningrad and Moscow, men who
later went on to design and launch the first Earth
satellites and provide the foundation for the So-
viet Union's present-day space and ballistic missile
programs.

The pre-eminence of government in space rock-
etry can be traced to the Treaty of Versailles which
ended World War I and prohibited the Germans
from having long-range artillery guns. It said abso-
lutely nothing about long-range rockets. However,
Professor (later General) Kar] Becker, Captain Rit-
ter von Horstig, and Captain Dpl. Ing. Walter
Dornberger of the Waffenprufamt of the Wehrmacht
began investigating what German inventors were
doing and came upon a group of rocket enthusiasts,
the Verein fur Raumschiffarht (Society for Space
Travel) working at an old munitions dump in
Reinickendorf outside Berlin. They were impressed
with what they saw and with a young student
named Wernher von Braun.

On October 1, 1933, von Braun became the first
rocket engineer employed by a government. He
became not only an outstanding engineer and a
charisimatic technical team leader, but also a con-
summate politician. (He was the the only man to
whom Adolf Hitler publicly apologized; Hitler had

210 Far Frontiers

originally opposed von Brauns ballistic missiles.)
During the next 12 years, von Braun learned how
to get a national treasury to pay for research and
development. This had never been done before. It
worked and produced the worlds first large rocket,
the German A.4 (V-2), which forms the basis for all
of todays government-funded space boosters. When
von Braun brought his rocket team to America in
1945, he added his know-how to the budding field
of government supported R&D that had gotten
started in Britain and America with radar, the
atomic bomb, the jet engine, and other World War
II developments.

Government-supported, military-based space
rocketry is a strange animal. Developments are
carried out to satisfy rather arbitrary government
specifications. Hardware is designed and built to
extremely close tolerances with unimpeachable
quality control and operates with the highest possi-
ble technical efficiency. Theres no room for error,
no substitute for quality, and no excuse for failure.
Cost and difficulty be damned! Hire another acre
of engineers and print another billion dollars! This
philosophy isn't basically dishonest. A ballistic or
guided missile is very much like a 16-inch naval
shell that must be able to sit in storage for years
and be absolutely dependable when its finally shot
from that expensive gun mounted on that expen-
sive battleship by men who've been expensively
trained for years.

But recently a group of young entrepreneurial
engineers, encouraged by a rocket pioneer who
was a contemporary of Goddard and himself is
deeply involved in private launch vehicle develop-
ment, began to sense there was another way to
build space boosters: cheap and dirty.

Robert C. Truax has always been an enthusiastic

CHEAP SHOTS 211

advocate of rocket power. During his midshipman
days at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis be-
tween 1936 and 1939, he designed and built liquid
rocket motors in his spare time, usually scroung-
ing old parts, materials, and machinists help. In
1941, he was assigned the duty of forming a com-
panion rocket team to that of Dr. Goddard at An-
napolis for the purpose of developing liquid rockets
to assist the takeoffs of heavily-loaded naval sea-
planes. He was a member of the 1955 Project Or-
biter Committee that recommended the U.S. use
the Redstone military rocket to place the first Earth
satellite in orbit. (The recommendations of the Com-
mittee were ignored, with the result that the USSR
beat the U.S. into orbit.) He headed up the study
team that recommended the development of the
Thor IRBM (the core of the current Delta launch
vehicle) using ICBM components then under develop-
ment. He was instrumental in the development of
the submarine-launched Polaris ballistic missile
and the Titan-III space launcher.

Although a retired naval officer now, Bob Truax
has long been an ardent believer in private enter-
prise. He got a great deal of publicity from his
almost tongue-in-cheek Project Private Enterprise,
a single-staged man-carrying suborbital liquid
rocket put together from surplus Atlas ICBM parts.
This was an early attempt to show that formerly
difficult technological feats could not be carried
out in an inexpensive manner. Truax was also one
of the first to consider the concept of the big
dumb booster, a cheap and simple no-frills space
launch rocket. Naturally, the idea of a big dumb
booster didnt and still doesnt sit well with many
aerospace companies whose expertise has been built
on years of designing big, smart, complex, and
expensive boosters.

212 Far Frontiers

Truax Engineering of Saratoga, California is now
in the process of designing and building a big
dumb booster. As a naval officer, Truax knows
that the easiest way to handle very large objects is
on and in the water, not on a huge and expen-
sive land crawler. His new Sea-Dragon will be
launched while floating in the ocean off Cape
Canaveral. It has a payload capability of 100,000
pounds to low-Earth orbit. Truax is aiming for a
launch cost of $100 per pound and expects to offer
launch services by 1990.

One might be tempted to consider the Sea Dragon
as another case of born thirty years too soon but
for the fact that Truax is no longer alone in the
field of private enterprise space launch vehicles.

As it was back in 1939 when Truax was experi-
menting with rockets at Annapolis and the Ger-
mans were actually flying rockets over the Baltic,
a West German firm called OTRAG (Orbital Trans-
port-und-Raketen Aktiengesellschaft) pioneered the
field of private launch vehicles in the 1970s. The
OTRAG rockets were simple, inexpensive modular
liquid propellant units. Each module consisted of
tanks made from standard oil field pipes. The pro-
pellant valves were off-the-shelf units actuated by
Volkswagen windshield wiper motors. Launch ve-
hicles of increasing payload capability were to be
made up of clusters of basic modules stacked in
various arrangements. Three test flights were made
in 1977 and 1978 from a leased test range in equa-
torial Zaire. An inflammatory and generally incor-
rect magazine article by Tad Szulc in the March
1978 issue of Penthouse magazine claimed OTRAG
was a cover for a Bonn government attempt to
develop a West German cruise missile. The resul-
tant political flap caused the Zaire government to

CHEAP SHOTS 213

cancel its contract for the launch site and throw
the rascal Germans out.

A subsequent series of negotiations resulted in a
new OTRAG launch site at an oasis some 373 miles
south of Tripoli in Libya. But the possibility that
OTRAG might be developing ballistic missiles for
Omar Kaddafy created another political furor.
When the dust settled, it turned out that OTRAG
was, in essence, a neat tax shelter for West Ger-
man investors because of peculiarities in the tax
laws of the Bonn government. As a result, OTRAG
today is no longer considered to be the leader or
the prime contender for top dog in the private
enterprise space race.

Back in 1980, a young man who'd been dream-
ing about space all his lifeand who, like many
other youngsters, had made thousands of sketches
of futuristic space rockets in the margins of school
notebooksdecided to turn those dream drawings
into hardware. Gary C. Hudson decided to build a
big dumb booster. In a light industrial complex in
Sunnyvale, California, Hudson put together a group
of about a half-dozen young engineers to design
and build a modular space launch vehicle that
would serve as a work horse. Hence its name,
Percheron. Hudson found backing from a Hous-
ton real estate developer and born-again Christian,
David G. Hannah, who set up a company called
Space Services, Inc. (SSI) to provide satellite pay-
load marketing and launch services with Perche-
ron rockets purchased from Hudson's GCH, Inc.

Percheron-I was a development test version of a
more complex modular launch vehicle. It had
welded aluminum tanks to hold its propellants
liquid oxygen (LOX) and kerosenewhile future
versions would use lightweight tanks made from
filament-wound fiberglass. There were no propel-

214 Far Frontiers

lant pumps; the liquids simply fell into the com-
bustion chamber under the force of gravity and
vehicle acceleration, assisted slightly by pressur-
ization provided by LOX vaporization. The simple
combustion chamber was a one-shot unit made
from composite plastics that would ablate; the
well-proven TRW pintle-type propellant injector
would be used. Propellants would be let into this
simple chamber by two surplus ICBM propellant
valves.

It was a big bird4 feet in diameter and more

than 52 feet longlarger than the German V-2 or

the U.S. Navys Viking research rocket of 1952-57.
With a lift-off weight of 20,000 pounds and a thrust
of 60,000 pounds (equal to that of the V-2) for 60
seconds, Percheron would have climbed to a calcu-
lated altitude of more than 70 miles. That's all
Percheron-I was designed to do: Get hardware on
the pad and into the air to prove it could be done.

The launch site was Matagorda Island on the
Gulf coast of Texas southwest of Houston, an abso-
lutely flat, uninhabited, isolated, steamy, swampy
barrier island, the site of a World War II air base
(now grown to weeds) and a wildlife preserve. Cat-
tle graze on it. Rocket tests have always required
isolated tracts of landthe Baltic coast of Germany,
the deserts of Kazakhstan and New Mexico, and
the swamp land of Cape Canaveral and the Texas
Gulf coast.

Getting the Percheron-I to Matagorda Island in
July 1981 was a logistics problem of military
proportions. (In fact, transporting the Percheron
by truck from Sunnyvale to Texas was a feat, too,
because some state police officers were highly sus-
picious of a private company hauling a 53-foot
rocket along their highways.) The only way to get
the large components to the island was by ferry

CHEAP SHOTS 215

barge. Hudson and his cohorts flew people and
small parts back and forth in a Cessna, landing on
a dirt road next to the launch pad. And, once on
the island, the launch team had trouble with the
local fauna. Cattle would come to gaze curiously
at the goings-on. Anne Roebke was given the task
of feeding the alligator that resided in the nearby
pond which held the cooling water for the launch
pads flame deflector. The whole affair took on the

frontier aspects of Dr. Goddards Roswell site dur-
ing the 1930s or White Sands in 1950. Private
rocketry was being re-born in America.

NASA and the aerospace companies looked on
with more than a modicum of quietly critical skep-
ticism and perhaps a few snickers at these wet-
behind-the-ears young rocket engineers who were
trying to do in a simple and inexpensive manner
something the pros knew couldnt be done. But
suddenly, there was hardware on the pad. The
people at nearby NASAs Johnson Space Center
sat up and took notice.

But rocket development has never been known
for its smooth road to success. And Percheron re-
peated history. On August 5, 1981, the GCH crew
loaded Percheron with enough LOX and kerosene
for a 5-second burp test of the ignition sequence.
No need to run the nitrogen purge of the propel-
lant valves. There isnt enough propellant there,
Gary Hudson decided. But condensation moisture
had frozen on the liquid oxygen valve, rendering it
inoperative (as later analysis determined). When
the ignition command was given, the pyrotechnic
igniter fired and the kerosene value (not frozen)
opened; the LOX valve didnt. The sooty yellow
flame of a fuel-rich mixture erupted from the base
of the rocket. After 1.5 seconds, kerosene-rich va-
pors and flame from the chamber backed up

216 Far Frontiers

through the injector to the LOX valve and unfroze
it. Lots of LOX entered the picture. The result was
what is known in the rocket business as a cata-
strophic disassembly or a hard start. Percherons
nose cone went an estimated 250 feet in the air,
not quite high enough to beat the altitude record
for a static test set by Viking #8, which broke
loose and climbed at an estimated 4 miles on June
6, 1952.

The crew recovered from the shock, shook their
ringing ears, and proceeded to pick up pieces and
douse the largest cow-chip fire of the year around
the unharmed launch pad. A quick look indicated
that the alligator in the cooling pond had survived.

The news media had a field day (as they always
do) with the explosion and failure of the Per-
cheron. Here was a return to the good old days of
1957 when all rockets blew up, as Tom Wolfe
pointed out in The Right Stuff.

But some people at NASAs Johnson Space Cen-
ter nearly came unglued. These bleedin amateurs
had not only put hardware on the pad but had
gotten a fire started under it! If it hadn't been for a
mistake similar to one all of them had made dur-
ing their careers at one time or another, that super-
simple big dumb booster would have flown! Actu-
ally gotten into the air!

A very large divot had suddenly been put in the
sacred turf of the professional space engineers. The
very foundations of their expertise had been chal-
lenged. What they managed to do with a great
deal of complexity, redundancy, high technology,
and money had been done by a bunch of people
who weren't members of the Club. And for less
than a million dollars in the bargain.

Suddenly, the NASA people were all over the
Percheron people like a rug, offering their expert

CHEAP SHOTS 217

help in determining the cause of the hard start.
Sure it was help! The NASA people had-to find out
what these amateurs had done, then cut them off
at the pass.

It should be well understood here that not all
NASA people are bureaucrats willing to kill to
protect their sacred turf. NASA is one of the finest
R&D outfits in the world, and they've proved it
time and time again. But there are always some
people in every organization who...

Less than 60 days after Percheron blew up on
Matagorda Island, Dave Hannah and his attorney
were in Sunnyvale at GCH, Inc. with a check and a
contract cancellation.

It took a while for the story to come out, but it
seems that some NASA people at Johnson Space
Center got to Dave Hannah and convinced him to
get rid of GCH, Inc. and go instead with a proven
aerospace outfit. The following things then oc-
curred:

Maxime Faget, the man responsible for the Mer-
cury program, retired from NASA; he eventually
went to work for Dave Hannah's Space Services,
Inc. In Alamogordo, New Mexico on October 3,
1981, I asked him about what had happened fol-
lowing Matagorda Island, and he told me, There's
no room for amateurs in this game, and we had to
get rid of them.

In addition to Faget, a number of others re-
signed from NASA: astronaut Donald K. Deke
Slayton, Christopher C. Kraft, Jr., and Les Scherer
(former director of Johnson Space Center). Some
of them turned up on the payroll of SSI and an-
other company, Eagle Engineering.

Eagle Engineering was retained by SSI to put
together the Conestoga launch vehicle.

The Conestoga rockets contractor was Space

218 Far Frontiers

Vector, Inc., an old hand in the rocket business
because Conestoga-I turned out to be an Aries-1
sounding rocket designed and assembled by Space
Vector. The U.S. Air Force and NASA had bought
lots of Aries-1 rockets from Space Vector. Aries-1
consists of a surplus M56A-1 Minuteman solid-
propellant second-stage rocket motor plus fins, pay-
load section, nose, and simple guidance system.

Now comes the incredible story of the first com-
mercial space rocket. Conestoga-1 turned out to
be a borrowed rocket.

SSI and Eagle Engineering went to their friends
at NASA to arrange for the purchase of the Cones-
toga/Aires rocket. But it turned out they couldn't.
In order for NASA to sell the M56A-1 rocket motor
to SSI, it would have to be declared surplus by
NASA, which meant that the USAF would want it
back for use with their own Aries rocketsondes. So
NASA loaned the M56A-1 rocket to SSI, who put
down a $300,000 deposit which would be cheer-
fully refunded if SSI returned the rocket in good
condition before November 1, 1982.

Amid much publicity, hoopla, and media hype,
Deke Slayton of SSI supervised the people of Space
Vector launching the Conestoga-1 from Matagorda
Island at 10 AM on the morning of September 9,
1982. Not only were 130 media people on hand to
record the event, but a lavish party was laid on for
an equal number of potential SSI investors.

Conestoga-1 flew perfectly. It should have. It
was a reliable, previously-tested NASA/USAF rocket
based on the Minuteman ICBM. It climbed to 196.9
miles and dumped a payload of 40 pounds of water.
Ten minutes and 40 seconds after launch, the re-
mains splashed into the Gulf of Mexico 326 miles

southeast of the launch site.
On November 1, 1982, SSI informed NASA that

CHEAP SHOTS 219

the $300,000 deposit would be forfeited because
they couldn't recover the expended and well-used
rocket from the Gulf.

There are other strange stories connected with
the Percheron and Conestoga launches. The Fed-
eral Aviation Administration had to give a waiver
for the flight under the provisions of Part 101 of
the Federal Air Regulations, but both the Perche-
ron and Conestoga people anticipated this. What
they didnt anticipate was the fight for turf that
occurred in other federal bureaucracies. NASA had
no authority over private launches at that time.
Neither did the Department of Defense. But be-
cause of the UN treaty on liability for damage
caused by space vehicles, the Department of State
became involved. If the rocket landed outside the
3-mile limit, it was also considered to have been
exported, and the Munitions Control Board got
interested. In the bureaucratic fracas that ensued,
the State Department managed to beat down all
the other government agencies because nobody else
had any clearcut authority. By virtue of the UN
treaty and the munitions export aspect of space
launches, the State Department did. That is why,
at this time, the official United States policy on
private space launch vehicles announced by the
White House on May 16, 1983 is being adminis-
tered jointly by NASA and the Department of State!

SSI is no longer alone, however. Gary Hudson
wasn't about to be left in the lurch, so hes work-
ing on the totally reuseable, manned Phoenix rocket
thatinvestors willingwill be flying by 1987.
Transspace, Inc. and Space Transport, Inc. both
have reuseable vehicles on the drawing boards. By
1988, Phoenix Engineering, Inc. of Redwood City,
California, will offer a four-stage expendable rocket
capable of putting 5,000 pounds in GEO. Starstruck,

220 Far Frontiers

Inc., also in Redwood City, is testing a hybrid
rocket (liquid oxidizer and solid fuel). Stennon
Partners of Sunnyvale is trying to organize to build
an expendable rocket to carry 1000 pounds to 500
miles. And SSI talks about the multi-staged Cones-
toga they intend to launch in 1984 or 1985; its
made up of various solid-fuel rockets derived from
military missiles and manufactured primarily by
Morton-Thiokol, the same people who make the big
solid rocket boosters for the NASA Space Shuttle.

Some existing launch vehicles have gone private,
too. Operating as Fedex Spacetrans, Federal Ex-
press will launch your satellite on Martin-Mariettas
proven Air Force rocket, the Titan-IIJ. General Dy-
namics offers its NASA-proven Atlas-Centaur, an

ICBM with a hydrogen upper stage. The former
NASA project managers of the highly successful
Delta launch vehicle resigned and have set up
TransSpace Carriers, Inc. in Greenbelt, Maryland
to sell launch services on civilian Delta rockets
built by MacDonnell-Douglas and capable of de-
livering 2,800 pounds to GEO.

Everyone is offering attractive packages and
innovative financing arrangements.

Competition has arrived in the space business in
spite of turf protecting, inside deals, and question-
able activities on the part of many. Some of the
companies with big plans and ideas today proba-
bly won't make it; others will, and their founders
and investors will become the first space million-
aires. The big question, of course, is who. In any
horse race, some horses run faster than others ...
but which ones?

You may not be able to buy a ticket to space in
the 1980s. But because space travel is being tack-
led by American free enterprise in response both

CHEAP SHOTS 221

to international competitive pressures and trickle
down technology, we re now in a totally new space
race.

Cheap shot, anyone?

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

AVENGING ANGEL
by

Eric Davin

Are alternate time track stories really science
fiction? The question is sometimes debated at
conventions. Fortunately we need not answer it
here.

Stories of a particular alternate time track which
change the outcome of what is known in the U.S.A.
as The War between the States, The Civil War,
or, in a few areas, The war of the slaveholders
rebellion, have long been popular. Probably the
best known was Ward Moore's Bring The Jubilee,
but there are plenty of others.

Eric Leif Davin has studied his period well. Most
of the people in this story are realand most of
the events could very well have happened, with
what ultimate effect on history we can only guess.

Being an Account of
The Confederacys Last Offensive
from the Memoirs of
Colonel Cyrus H. Mandeville, CSA
as edited by
Eric Leif Davin

London, March 4, 1908.

I am reluctant to begin. For many years I and
the other major participants in our enterprise felt
that only great harm to the Southern cause could

result from committing our memories to paper.
Possible harm to our own persons was, if present
at all, a secondary consideration. Our great desire
was to serveeven at a late datethe interests of
the Confederacy by maintaining silence.

Yet, it is March 4th. Every March I am haunted
still by the great terror we unleashed now 43 years
past.

And, with the passing of time, perhaps there has
come that cooling of passions and the mutual for-
giveness so fervently desired by Mr. Lincoln before
his death.

In any case, with the recent death of Lord Kelvin,
all the principal figures in our enterpriseexcepting
myselfno longer dwell in this vale of tears. They,
at least, are beyond the reach of any possible
retribution.

As for my own person, I feel the obligation to
record the events for posterity to be far more im-
portant than my personal safety. In any event, I
fear little as I am now an old man, nearly blind,
with few years left to my earthly tenure.

And, I have General Lees example before me.
Much as we all desired to have the Generals own
account of his part in the War for Southern Indepen-

224

AVENGING ANGEL 225

dence, he kept putting aside the task for a conve-
nient seasontill, at last, there were no seasons.

I do not wish that for myself.

Therefore, it seems incumbent upon me to reveal,
at last, my own part in the most audacious opera-
tion of the great War Between the States.

But, a prefatory comment: It is not my inten-
tion herein to glorify or enlarge my own contribu-
tion to the war effort. Rather, it is my purpose to
record, to the best of my ability, events as I wit-
nessed them, events whichhad they transpired
as plannedmight have changed momentously the
history of the North American peoples.

Unfortunately, all our official records were de-

stroyed in the Fall of Richmond when the Confed-
erate government archives were burned. Therefore,
I have had to rely upon my own recollections and
the meager notes I surreptitiously made at the
timea practice expressly forbidden by my superi-
ors, but difficult to comply with for a journalist.

Additionally, being no scientist, it is possible there
may be errors of omission or miscalculation in my
account. Let these errors, then, be attributed to
my own technical ignorance rather than to any
lack of historical veracity on my part.

I was a newspaper journalist in Richmond when
the South Carolina government signed the Ordinance
of Secession. Sentiment in Virginia was overwhelm-
ingly against the secessionists and we heartily de-
sired to stay out of the impending conflict.

Mr. Lincoln, however, forced us to do otherwise.
While still part of the Union, the coasts of both
Virginia and North Carolina were ordered block-
aded by the President. In addition, we were in-
formed by him that we could not remain neutral.

226 Far Frontiers

We must either fight with the seceding statesor
fight against them.

Reluctantly, we cast our lot with the new-born
Confederacy. I, too, offered my services to the new
Confederate government.

Shortly after his inauguration as President of
the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis appointed that
brilliant Jew, Judah Benjamin, as Secretary of
State. Secretary Benjamin was a type of man des-
perately needed by the South: urbane, cosmopoli-
tan, learned.

In turn, Secretary Benjamin desperately needed
men like himself as Confederate representatives in
Europe, men who could be entrusted with our
cause before the courts of the Old World. While
Southern independence might have been won on
the field of battle, it could also have been won in
the drawing rooms of the Continent if Lord Palmer-
stons government, or that of the Emperor Louis
Napoleon, could have been persuaded to recognize
the legitimacy of the Confederate government.

Unfortunately, able representatives were diffi-
cult to discover. Even before the war, the United
States had not been well represented abroad. Hav-
ing absolutely no governmental structure at the
beginning of the conflict, the Confederacy was even
less prepared for international diplomacy.

Thus, I was such a man as Secretary Benjamin
sought. My father, Francois Mandeville, was Pari-
sian, while my mother was of German origin, born
in Trier. I was therefore raised speaking not only
my native English, but Parisian French and Ger-
man as wellthe latter with the accent of Alsace-
Lorraine and the German provinces along the
Moselle.

In addition, I was educated and had already
begun to establish a promising reputation in jour-

AVENGING ANGEL 227

nalistic circles as a reporter for the Richmond
Examiner.

I was immediately dispatched by Secretary Ben-
jamin to England to work on the London Index
under the editorship of that extraordinary Confed-
erate publicist, Henry Hotze.

Although subsidized by the Confederate govern-
ment, the Index was not a vulgar propaganda sheet.
Mr. Benjamin recognized that the Southern cause
could best be served in European eyes by a reputa-
ble and trusted forum, which we labored mightily
to create.

Thus, the Index offered sound journalism and
the best European coverage of the war's progress.
Of a certainty we trumpeted every Southern tri-
umphbut we also reported every Southern set-
back.

In this manner, we came to win the trust and
respect of the major European intellectual circles
and established invaluable contacts with men of
learning throughout the Continent.

Perhaps, at a convenient season, I shall write
a formal history of Southern diplomatic efforts in
Europe during the war. However, this is not the
place for such a work. Suffice to say that as the
war progressed badly at home, our economic and
diplomatic position in Europe deteriorated apace.

As the summer of 1864 came to a close, it be-
came evident to everyone that the Confederacy,
valiant though it was, could not compete with the
manpower, industrial capacity, and financial re-
sources of the North. All the North needed was to
remain steadfast, for, without a miracle, the South
would be slowly ground into the dust.

It was then that General Josiah Gorgas, Confed-
erate Chief of Ordnance, initiated his program of
secret weapons development. Its purpose was to

228 Far Frontiers

utilize the last resources of the Confederacy to win
in the laboratory what was being lost on the
battlefield.

One such secret weapon was a bomb manufac-
tured to resemble a lump of coal. A notable victim
of this coal bomb was the Southern blockade
runner Greyhound, which had been captured by
the Federals and was in operation against us on
the James River.

Confederate agents infiltrated the Greyhound dis-
guised as roughly dressed stowaways, planted the
bombs in the coal bunker, and fled. As the steamer
plied the James, the bombs were fed into its boil-
ers as coal. The Greyhound exploded and sank,
almost taking Admiral Porter and the despicable
General Butler to a watery tomb.

In late October, shortly after Sheridan decisively
cleared the Shenendoah Valley of Confederate units
in anticipation of a final drive upon Richmond,
Secretary Benjamin introduced me to General
Gorgas most audacious secret weapon the
Avenging Angel endeavor.

Conceived by Gorgas, this fantastic scheme called
for nothing less than a gigantic aerial bomb to be
manufactured in the huge Tredegar Iron Works in
Richmond.

It was believed that if such an aerial bomb could
be, by some means, exploded in Washington, and
if the North could be convinced the Confederacy
had an arsenal of such weapons, victory might yet
be snatched from defeat.

Initially, Gorgas met with stiff opposition until
he carried the day by reminding his incredulous
superiors that the concept was no more preposter-
ous than the sub-marine H. L. Hunley which
sank the U.S.S. Housatonic in Charleston harbor
earlier that year.

AVENGING ANGEL 229

In addition, he pointed to those singular steel
ships, the ironclads, which were revolutionizing
both Southern and Northern navies. Using these
arguments, General Gorgas received permission to
proceed.

Because of my linguistic background and my
contacts with some of Europe's foremost scientists,
established through my journalistic efforts on the
Index, I was assigned the task of securing the neces-
sary cooperation of certain eminent men.

By then, Confederate brown paper was virtually
worthless. However, our agent in Paris, the very
able John Slidell, had procured the needed funds
for our enterprise. Slidells daughter had married
into the French banking firm of Emile Erlanger &

Company. In March of 1863, Erlanger & Co. made
a loan to the Confederate government of $15,000,000,
to be secured by cotton bonds.

By late '64, over $5,000,000 yet remained in the
Erlanger loan account. Through the War Depart-
ments Bureau of Foreign Supplies, Colin McRae,
agent in charge of the account, was instructed to
make all remaining funds available to me for the
Avenging Angel endeavor.

Also residing in London at this time was another
agent of the Confederate government, Matthew Fon-
taine Maury, later to be known as the father of
modern navigation. Maury, a native of Fredericks-
burg, Virginia, served for twenty years as Superin-
tendent of the U.S. Naval Observatory. After the
war, Maury would teach as a Professor of Meteor-
ology at the Virginia Military Institute until his
death in 1873.

When Virginia joined the Confederacy in 1861,
Maury, like myself, joined it as well. He resigned
as Superintendent of the Naval Observatory and,

230 Far Frontiers

in 1862, Secretary Benjamin sent him to London
to represent the Confederacy.

Maury and I journeyed to Glasgow to discuss
the project with the Baron William Kelvin, the
noted mathematician and physicist. Through the
personal intercession of William Gladstone, then
Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Lord Russell,
then the Foreign Secretaryboth of whom were
champions in Parliament of Southern indepen-
denceLord Kelvin was persuaded to abandon his
teaching for the nonce and devote himself entirely
to our endeavor.

Lord Kelvin and Maury realized at once that
known propellants would be pitifully inadequate.
The Avenging Angel endeavor called for an aerial
bomb to be flown, somehow, from Richmond to
the newly completed Capitol Dome in Washington
a distance of some one hundred miles.

However, making the European funds of the Con-
federacy available to the Baron enabled Lord Kel-
vin to complete experiments he had been engaged
upon privately for some timethe perfection of a
process for liquifying oxygen. When mixed with
the proper propellants, Lord Kelvins experiments
proved that liquid oxygen would produce a faster
burning of fueland thus, greater thrust.

Utmost secrecy was the order of the day and,
true to his word of honor as a gentleman, Lord
Kelvin never revealed the results of his experi-
mentseven though his impressive accomplish-
ment in perfecting this new propellant catalyst,
long in advance of its accepted date of development,
would have added immeasurably to his reputation.

Leaving Maury in Glasgow to complete the work
with Lord Kelvin, I continued on to Vienna with
coffers bulging with the last gold of the Confederacy.

I had previously met the renowned German physi-

AVENGING ANGEL 231

cist Dr. Ernst Mach when writing a column on
him for the Index. This time, however, I came to
offer something more than mere publicity. What
sympathy to the Southern cause could not obtain,
the remains of the Erlanger loan did. By the time I
left Vienna, Dr. Mach had contributed a turbine
engine and a gyroscopic stabilizer for the Aveng-
ing Angel.

In the meantime, time was running out for the
Confederacy. On November 16, Sherman burned
Atlanta and began his long March to the Sea. If
the Avenging Angel were to be of any use, it had to
be in place before the Confederacy was cut off
from the outside world.

Thus, on December 19, 1864, we set sail for St.
George, Bermuda, on a British Royal Mail steamer.

Our one remaining route into the Confederacy
was Wilmington, North Carolina. Already block-
aded by a Federal fleet under Admiral Porter and
beseiged by a Federal army under General Butler,
Wilmington was yet protected by Fort Fisher on
the Cape Fear River. As long as Fort Fisher held,
we had a chance of running the Federal blockade
and reaching Richmond.

In St. George, Maury and I learned of Shermans
occupation of Savannah, which occurred on Christ-
mas Eve while we were in transit. The Southland
was effectively cut in twain.

Maury and I quickly transferred our entourage
of Scottish workmen, Mach s turbine engine and
stabilizer, and British-built machinery for liquefy-
ing oxygen onto the blockade runner Don, under
the command of a Captain Roberts.

On December 29, Captain Roberts set out for the
Cape Fear River and the blockading Federal gun-
boats.

Wilmington was an ideal harbor for blockade

232 Far Frontiers

runners as the Federal gunboats could not effec-
tively block the mouth of the Cape Fear River. The
river itself was divided by an island and barri-
caded by a shallow bar. In addition, the big guns
of Fort Fisher dominated the mouth of the river.

The black painted blockade runners slipped in
and out of this river in the night time mist, invisi-
ble more than a hundred yards away and their
engines lost in the roar of the breakers.

Nevertheless, it was dangerous. The unceasing
increase in Federal gunboats resulted in the cap-
ture of one out of every two runners at this time.
What is more, over thirty blockade runners had
already been lost on the treacherous twelve-mile
stretch of beach above Cape Fear.

Either the blockading Federal navy or the natu-
ral dangers of Cape Fear could have doomed our
efforts, but Captain Roberts brought us safely into
Wilmington harbor on New Years Day, 1865.

Shortly after our arrival, on January 15, a new
Federal offensive under General Terry renewed the
assault on Fort Fisher and carried it. With this
loss, the South was sealed off from the outside
world. Indeed, the Confederacy itself was now es-
sentially reduced to the Carolinas and the south-
ern strip of Virginia.

But our expedition had already reached Rich-
mond.

While Maury completed his calculations on the
trajectory, workmen prepared a deep launching
hole in the banks of the James River outside
Richmond. Most of their labor consisted of fitting
a tube composed of dismantled naval gun barrels
into the river bank launching site.

On February 3, our last hope for a negotiated
peace was shattered. Vice President Alexander
Stephens, President Pro Tem of the Senate Robert

AVENGING ANGEL 233

Hunter, and Assistant Secretary of War John Camp-
bell met on a Federal steamer in Hampton Roads
with President Lincoln and Secretary of State Wil-
liam Seward to discuss surrender terms.

Lincoln demanded unconditional surrender.

On February 6, President Davis delivered a most
eloquent and impassioned speech to a patriotic
mass rally in Richmond's African Church. Presi-
dent Davis made it clear in his speech, the notes of
which I have before me, that our only hope now
lay in fighting to our last breath.

Or, it was secretly hoped, in the Avenging Angel.

It was now obvious to us all that any chance for
the Confederacys survival lay in this, our last and
greatest secret weapon. If the Avenging Angel aer-
ial bomb could be dropped on Washington at a
propitious momentand if the North could be per-
suaded we had a stockpile of such weapons with
which to devastate Baltimore, Philadelphia, and
other Northern citiesa negotiated peace respect-
ing Southern rights might yet be forced.

March 4th was selected as the launch date. On
the morning of March 4th, Mr. Lincoln would cele-
brate his Second Inauguration with a speech in
Washington, at a site known in advance to us. If
the Avenging Angel aerial bomb were big enough
and accurate enough, we would not only be able to
destroy the newly completed U. S. Capitol Domea
symbolic blowbut insure Mr. Lincolns death as
well.

In the resulting chaos and confusion, President
Davis would let it be known that other such infer-
nal devices were held in restraint, ready to be
hurled like veritable avenging angels from the skies.
Only an immediately negotiated peace treaty would
stay their deadly flight.

On March 1, the Avenging Angel aerial bomb

234 Far Frontiers

was carted through the streets of Richmond from
the Tredegar Iron Works to its launching site on
the James River. Workmen from the Torpedo Bu-
reau there labored unceasingly to complete final
preparations.

The Avenging Angel aerial bomb was a rocket
composed of three separate, but attached, sections.
The entire rocket was to obtain its launching thrust
from a huge quantity of guncotton at the base of
the tube, to be ignited by an electrical switch.
Steam pipes led into the launching tube to provide
power for the stabilizing vanes.

After launching, small timed fuses would explode,
separating the initial section of the rocket from
the remainder just as its inertia was spent. The
next section would immediately ignite its liquid
oxygen fuel and propel the rocket upward on its
way to Washington, being similarly jettisoned when
it became useless. If all went as planned, the third
and final section would expend its own liquid oxy-
gen fuel supply shortly before the fall upon Washing-
ton.

A rough and ready network of lookouts equipped
with telescopes was in place in the countryside
between Richmond and Washington and the final
impact would be instantly relayed to us.

All was in place in the rainy predawn hours of
March 4th. The words Confederate States of Amer-
ica and the date had already been cut into the
forward section of the aerial bomb. President Davis
himself cut his name into the bomb shortly before
launching.

Then, in the cold and drizzly morning light, Presi-
dent Davis closed the switch, thus firing the Aveng-
ing Angel aerial bomb toward Mr. Lincolns In-
auguration ceremonies.

A pillar of flame belched out of the launching

AVENGING ANGEL 235

tube and we followed the rocket skyward with our
telescopes. I witnessed the first section separate
from the rest of the missile and fall back to earth.
It was later retrieved by workmen from the Tor-
pedo Bureau and returned to the Tredegar Iron
Works. The rocket itself continued towards Wash-
ington until lost from sight in the overcast sky.

The rest is well known.

The Avenging Angel aerial bomb dropped upon
the U.S. Capitol Dome and exploded. Mr. Lincoln,
Vice President Johnson, the Speaker of the U.S.
House, and most of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet and the
U.S. Supreme Court perished in the Avenging An-
gel detonation.

President Davis released a prepared statement
to the Richmond Examiner revealing the existence
of the Avenging Angel aerial bomb and exulting in
what was perceived as the salvation of our fortunes.
He also caused a message to be delivered to the
encircling Federal army of General Grant to the
effect that a similar fate awaited other Northern
cities if hostile actions against Richmond did not
cease immediately pending anticipated truce talks.

In the North, chaos reigned. Panic seized Wash-
ington and other Northern cities when President
Davis message to Grant was made known. Crazed
mobs of refugees in Baltimore and Philadelphia
battled small Federal troop garrisons as they stam-
peded into the surrounding countryside.

Chicago, Boston, New York, and a dozen other
Northern cities were convulsed as mobs rioted in
fear of an unknown death dropping from the skies.

This had been anticipated by us and events pro-
ceeded as expected. General Grant ceased opera-
tions around Richmond and awaited further orders.

It was unclear, however, who would issue those

236 Far Frontiers

orders. Almost the entire leadership of the U.S.
government had been exterminated.

Then, the unanticipated took control of our
destinies. To our great misfortune, Secretary of
War Stanton had been ill on March 4th and had
absented himself from the Inauguration ceremonies.
Thus, he escaped the dreadful fate of his colleagues
and sealed ours.

Stanton rose from his sick bed and, amid the
chaos and disorder that was Washington, seized
control of the Federal government. He suspended
the Constitution and quickly clamped order upon
the tumultuous Northern cities by imposing mar-
tial law throughout the country. Under his dictato-
rial fist, Northern fear subsidedto be replaced
with anger.

Always a rabid bitter-ender, Stanton never con-
sidered negotiations with the Confederacy a pos-
sibility. His ad hoc government immediately left
Washington and went into hiding to escape the
threatened rain of Southern terror from the skies.
Meanwhile, he ordered the capture of Richmond,
regardless of the cost.

General Lees pitiful defending forces crumpled
under Grants bloody assault, and a fire storm of
Federal anger swept over Richmond. It was now
our turn for fear and hysteria as the avenging
Federal troops pillaged and looted freely. Homes
were put to the torch, civilians were indiscrimi-
nantly shot, and Southern women were violated in
the burning streets.

On express orders of Stanton, members of the
Confederate government, then in fugitive flight,
were hunted down and brutally executed. I, myself,
saw the body of Vice President Stephens, black-
ened and bloated, hanging from a telegraph pole.

President Davis and his family were captured

AVENGING ANGEL 237

while trying to flee the flames of Richmond hid-
den in an ice wagon. Grant swiftly ordered him to
Washington where he was hastily condemned in a
mad mockery of a trial as a traitor and a murderer.
On Good Friday, April 14, he was hanged on the
very spot where Mr. Lincoln met his death from
the Avenging Angel.

Meanwhile, on March 15, General Lee surren-
dered the gallant Army of Northern Virginiaor
what remained of itto Grant at Harper's Ferry.
Thus, the War Between the States ended where it
had begun.

The South was prostrate before a vengeful occu-
pation army which proceeded to enforce the harsh
rule of the exploiting carpetbagger and Stantons
unforgiving Radical Republicans.

Of course, no more Avenging Angels fell from
the skies to lay waste Northern cities. Stanton had
called our bluff, and the game was his.

We had horribly misjudged what the Northern
temper would be in the aftermath of Avenging
Angel and I realized how misconceived the Con-
federacys last offensive had been from the begin-
ning. In the frantic haste of our efforts to stave off
defeat, our passion ruled. It had been a final, in-
sane effort to bring the Temple down on top of
ourselvesand we paid the price in blood.

Instead of Northern fear, we created fury. In-
stead of a call for a negotiated truce, we engen-
dered a crazed clamoring for retribution.

The balm of peace had no chance to heal the
wounds of war.

But, despite vigilant efforts on the part of Stan-
tons government to root out the particulars of our
enterprise and bring us to trial, nothing but the
public facts were discovered. The official records
were gone in the destruction of Richmond and we

238 Far Frontiers

who participated in the creation of the Avenging
Angelout of mingled fear and partriotismkept
our silence.

Until now.
Thus, at last I, the sole survivor of this baleful

endeavor, set down a true account of Avenging
Angel, the last offensive of the Confederacy.
May the Lord God have mercy upon my soul.

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO:

HOUSE OF WEAPONS

by
Gordon R. Dickson

Gordon Dickson was Guest of Honor at the 1984
World Science Fiction Convention held in Los
Angeleswell, really in Anaheim because the
Worldcon has gotten too big for any hotel or con-
vention center in Los Angelesbut the Convention
Committee all lived in Los Angeles. As Master of
Ceremonies for the Convention, it was my privi-
lege to organize a roast. This was ostensibly a
benefit for the Science Fiction Writers of America,
and did indeed raise enough money to pay off the
lingering indebtedness caused by former SFWA
President Dicksons addiction to the telephonebut
mostly it was just plain fun.

It did present a problem. How can you properly
roast someone whose worst crime is that he doesnt
get hangovers? Gordie was suffering from an asthma
attack while in Anaheim; at least thats what he
said. Robert Silverbergs opinion is that he was
suffering from a hangover earned in 1956.

Booksellers at the Worldcon sold just-off-the-press
copies of The Final Encyclopedia, part of Dicksons
great series which he calls the Childe Cycle.

Fans have long awaited the next installment in
the Cycle. Not so many know about Gordys other
big novel: the Pilgrim series, about the invasion of
Earth. Dicksons invadersthe Aalaagare fright-
eningly competent, and their race has the benefit
of experience: this isnt the first civilized world
they have seized and not merely held, but governed.
Aalaag history teaches that the native inhabitants

239

240 Far Frontiers

of conquered worlds learn, sooner or later, to love
their captors; and it is then well for the Aalaag and
their descendants.

The first two stories of the Pilgrim appeared in a
rival magazine. Far Frontiers is proud to present
the next installment of what many believe is
Dicksons finest work.

Gordon R. Dickson

The dumbbell shape of the two-place Aalaag cou-
rier ship in which Shane Everts was being trans-
ported dropped like a meteorite slung from the
altitude of its extra-orbital journey.

Shane felt his body temporarily weightless, held
in place only by the restraining arms of the seat in
which he sat. A meter and a half before his nose,
his November view of the Twin Cities of Minneapo-
lis and St. Paul, below, was all but hidden by the
massive, white-uniformed shoulders of the eight-
foot Aalaag female, who was his pilot.

In summer these cities, chief population centers
of what had once been Minnesota, one of the for-
mer United States of America, would have been
only partly visible from this angle above them.
Thick-treed avenues and streets would then have
given the illusion of nothing more than two small,
separate downtown business centers surrounded
by heavy forest. But now, in the final months of
the dying year, the full extent of both cities
and their suburbs lay revealed among the leaves
stripped from tree limbs by the winds of early
winter.

No snow was yet on the ground to soften what
the fallen leaves had uncovered. Shane looked
around the pilot and down into the empty-seeming
thoroughfares. Under Aalaag rule they would be as
clean as those of Milan in northern Italy. He had
just left that city to be carried here to the Head-
quarters of all the alien power on Earth. Its build-
ing was placed about the headwaters of navigation
on the Mississippi River. To this place Shane now,
his nerves on edge, returned.

The body odor of his pilot forced itself once
more on his attention. It was inescapable in the
close confines of the small vesselas no doubt his
human smell was to her. Though as an Aalaag she

242

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 243

would never have lowered herself to admit noticing
such a fact. The scent of her in his nostrils was
hardly agreeable, but not specifically disagreeable,
either.

It was the smell of a different animal, only. Some-
thing like the reek of a horse or cow barn, only
with that slightly acid tinge which identifies a
meat-eater. For the Aalaag (though they required
that Earthly foodstuffs be reconstituted for their
different digestive systems) were like humanity,
omnivores who made a certain portion of their
diet out of fleshthough of earthly creatures other
than human.

That exception of human flesh from the Aalaag
diet might be merely policy on the part of the
Aliens. Or it might not, thought Shane. Even after
two years of living here at the very heart and
center of the Aalaag Command on Earth, in many
cases like this he had no way of knowing what
their real reasons were, or whether what he be-
lieved might be merely an assumption on his
part....

He forced his mind to stop playing with the
question of the aliens diet. It was unimportant,
as unimportant as the differences in appearance
of the Twin Cities between June and November.
Both thoughts were only straw men thrown up
by his subconscious as excuses to avoid think-
ing of the situation which would be facing him
momentarily.

In only a few minutes he would be once more in
the House of his master, reporting to himto Lyt
Ahn, First Captain and Commander of all the Aalaag
on this captive and subject Earth. And this time,
for the first time, he would face that ruler, know-
ing himself guilty of what to these Aalaag were
two capital crimes, for themselves, or any one of

244 Far Frontiers

their servants. Chief of these was not merely the
violation of an order, but the violation of it while
he was on duty, as a translator and courier for the
First Captain.

It was ironic. He had clung to the thought of
himself as someone well able to endure existence
under the domination of the alien rulers. This be-
lief had persisted in him until just a few hours
ago. But now he had to face the fact that even
though he had been among the most favored of
humans, there was one vital area in which he was
no less vulnerable than any of the rest of his race.

As a courier translator for Lyt Ahn, he was well
fed, well housed, well paidtremendously so in
comparison with the overwhelming mass of his
fellow humans. He had therefore believed in his
own ability to avoid trouble with the overlords.
But in spite of all this, twice now, the insanity
which the Aalaag called yowaragha sudden over-
whelming urge to revolt against the conquerors,
regardless of personal consequenceshad overtaken
him, just as if he had been one of the ordinary,
starving mass of Earth's population.

The first explosion of that suicidal emotion had
come on him two years ago in a square of the city
of Aalborg, in Denmark, when he had been an
involuntary witness to a man being executed by
the Aalaag; andto his own later shockin a half-
drunken reaction of defiance had secretly drawn
on the wall under the executed man the stick fig-
ure of a pilgrim with a staff. The act had had
unexpected consequences. To his astonishment, that
figure had since been picked up by other humans
and spread over the world as the particular sym-
bol of covert opposition to the alien rulers. Its
authorship had never been traced back to him,
even by those humans who had come to use it.

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 245

Nonetheless, for a moment there, he had blindly
courted execution, himself. Even though neither
alien nor human knew it, he had defied the all-
powerful masters.

Then, once again in the grip of yowaragh, in the
hours just past in Milan, he had risked himself to
rescue a woman called only Maria, whom he had
never seen before; and this had revealed his exis-
tence, if not his identity, to the human Resistance
group there, of which she was one.

It was only now, on the return trip to his masters
Headquarters, aboard an Aalaag special courier
ship, that he had finally admitted to himself that
he, like all the rest of his race, walked a razors

edge between the absolute power of his rulers
and a possibility, which he now recognized starkly,
that at any moment an uncontrollable inner explo-
sion might drive him to do something that would
bring his hatred of the Aalaag to their attention.

It was strange, he thought now, that this should
only be striking home to him at this time, three
years after the aliens had landed and taken over
Earth in one swift and effortless moment. Squarely,
he faced the fact that he was terrified of the conse-
quences of another such bout of madness in him.
He had seen Aalaag interrogation and discipline at
work. He knew, as the underground Resistance
people did not, that there was literally no hope of
a successful revolt against the overwhelming mili-
tary power of their alien masters. Anyone attempt-
ing to act against the Aalaag was courting not only
certain eventual discovery, but equally certain, and
painful, deathas an object lesson to other hu-
mans who might also be tempted to revolt.

And this would be as true for him as for any
other human, in spite of the value of his work to

246 Far Frontiers

the aliens and the kindness with which his own
master had always seemed to regard him.

At the same time the logical front of his mind
was reading him this lesson, the back of it was
playing with the notion of finding ways around his
situation and avoiding any such future risks of
triggering off the yowaragh reaction in him. He
remembered how simple it would be to contact
the Resistance people again. All he had to do was
buy himself a used pilgrims gown of two different
colors, one inside and one outsideand pay for the
purchase with the gold that only an alien-employed
human like himself would be carrying. The dream
of revolt was an unbelievably seductive onein
the years before the coming of the Aalaag, he could
never have imagined how seductivebut at the
same time he must never forget how hopeless and
false it was. He must always remember to hold
himself under tight control and continue to chart
his way cool-headedly in the Aalaag Headquarters
and under the Aalaag eyes that were always upon
him.

His problem was twofold, he reminded himself
as he flew toward his destination. He must cover
up any dangerous results that might come from
his previous attacks of yowaragh; and he must
make sure that he never, never, fell into the trap
of that dangerous emotional explosion again.

To begin with, as soon as he got the ear of Lyt
Ahn, he must set up excuses against the two crimes
he had just committed in Milan. The lie to Laa
Ehon must be covered; and there was still deep
danger in the fact that he had helped to rescue
Maria. The Aalaag, if they should ever actually
come to suspect him, had devices which like blood-
hounds could sniff out his having slipped away
from the Milanese Headquarters without orders,

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 247

to confront and confuse the Alien guard who had
originally arrested Mariaall this while he had
supposedly been given time off to rest in a human
dormitory in the building.

That was the most dangerous of the two crimes
he had just committed in Aalaag termscrimes,
as they would be seen by Aalaag eyes. The lesser
crime, but one sufficient enough for his execution,
was that he had lied to Laa Ehon, the Commander
of the Milanese District, when that Aalaag had asked
him what the price was Lyt Ahn had placed upon
himobviously with an eye to buying Shane from
the First Captain. Shane had claimed a price that
Lyt Ahn had never mentioned, gambling that his
master would not remember never having set such
a price and that the price was one that Lyt Ahn
would have set, if he had indeed ever gotten around
to doing so.

A lying beast, in Aalaag eyes, was an untrust-
worthy beast; and should therefore be destroyed.
Somehow, this statement of his to Laa Ehon must
be handledbut at the moment he had no idea
how to do it. Perhaps, if he simply relaxed and put
it deliberately out of his mind once more, a solu-
tion would come to him naturally....

He made a conscious effort to relax; and instinc-
tively his released mind drifted off into its favorite
fantasyof an individual called The Pilgrim, who
was at the same time himself, under the cover of
being a translator-courier for Lyt Ahn; and who
was also superior to all Aalaag, as they were supe-
rior to all ordinary humans. It was this familiar
daydream that had caused him to choose the pil-
grim image for the stick-figure he had drawn un-
der the executed man.

The Pilgrim, he luxuriated in his dream, would
wear the same anonymous garb in which Shane

248 Far Frontiers

himself came and went among his fellow humans
who, otherwise, catching him alone and away from
Aalaags or the Interior Guard who policed them,
would have torn him apart if they had known that
he was one of those favored and employed by their
masters.

The Pilgrim would be uncatchable and uncon-
trollable by the Aalaag. He would set their laws
and their might at defiance. He would succor hu-
mans who had fallen afoul of those same alien
rules and lawsas Shane had, by sheer luck more
than anything else, managed to get Maria out of
the clutches of the Milanese garrison.

Above all, the Pilgrim would bring home to the
aliens the fact that they were not the masters of
Earth that they thought themselves to be....

For a little while, as the courier ship dipped
down toward its destination, he let himself indulge
in that fantasy, seeing himself as The Pilgrim with
a power that put him above even Lyt Ahn, and all
those other alien masters who made his insides go
hollow every time they so much as looked at him.

Then he roused himself and shook it off. It was
all right as a means to keep him sane; but it was
dangerous, indulged in when he was actually un-
der alien observation, as he was about to be within
seconds. Besides, he could afford to put it aside for
the moment. Five minutes from now he would be
in the small cubicle that was his living quarters
and he could think what he liked, including how
to protect himself against Lyt Ahns discovery of
either of his recent crimes.

The courier ship was now right over its destina-
tion. The landing spot to which it dropped was
only a couple of hundred meters below, the roof-
top of an enormous construction with only some
twenty stories or so above ground but as many

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 249

below, and covering several acres in area. Like all
structures now taken over or built by the Aalaag,
it gleamed; in this chill, thin November sunlight
looking as if liquid mercury had been poured over
it. That shining surface was a defensive screen or
coatingShane had never been able to discover
which, since the Aalaag took it so for granted that
they never spoke of it. Once in place, apparently, it
needed neither renewal nor maintenance.

Just as it seemed their ship must crash into the
rooftop, a space of the silver surface vanished.
Revealed were a flat landing area, and a platoon
of the oversized humans recruited as Interior
Guards to the aliens. These stood, fully armed,
under the command of an Aalaag officer who tow-
ered in full, white armor above the tallest of them.
The officer was a male, Shane saw, the fact betrayed
by the narrowness of his lower-body armor.

As the ship touched down, its port opened and
Shane's pilot stepped out. The Ordinary Guards at
once fell back, leaving the Aalaag to come forward
alone and meet the pilot. Shane, lost behind her
powerful shape; had followed her out.

Am Mehon, twenty-eighth rank, the pilot intro-
duced herself. I return one of the First Captains
cattle, at his orders

She half-turned to indicate, with the massive
thumb of her left hand, Shane, who was standing
a respectful two paces behind her and to her left.

Aral Te Kinn, the Aalaag on guard introduced
himself. Thirty-second rank... .

His armored head bent slightly, acknowledging
the fact that the courier pilot outranked him by
four degrees. But it would have bent no further for
the First Captain, himself.

Theoretically all Aalaag were equal; and the low-
est of them, when on duty, could give orders to the

250 Far Frontiers

highest, if the other was not. Here, on the roof
landing space of the House of Weapons, as the
First Captains residence and headquarters were
always called, the officer on guard, being in con-
trol of the area, was therefore in authority. Only
courtesy dictated the slight inclination of nis head.

This beast is to report itself to the First Captain
immediately, he went on now. His helmet turned
slightly, bringing its viewing slit to focus on Shane.
You heard me, beast?

Shane felt a sudden, sickening emptiness in his
stomach. Surely it was impossible that what he
had done in Milan could have been found out and
reported to his master this quickly? He shook off
the sudden weakness. Of course it was impossible.
But even with the sudden fear gone, he felt robbed
of the anticipated peace and quiet of his cubicle,
the chance to think and plan, he had been looking
forward to. But there was no gainsaying the order.

T heard and I obey, untarnished sir, answered
Shane in Aalaag, bending his own head in a consid-
erably deeper bow.

He walked past the pilot and Aral Te Kinn to-
ward the shed-like structure containing the drop
pad that would lower him to his meeting with the
alien overlord of all Earth. The tall humans who
were the Ordinary Guards gazed down at him with
faint contempt as their ranks parted to let him
through. But Shane was by now so used to their
attitudes to such as himself that he hardly noticed.

.. I had heard there were a rare few among
these cattle who could speak the actual language
as a real person does, he could hear the pilot
saying to Aral Te Kinn behind him, but I'd never
believed it until now. If it were not for the squeaki-
ness of its high voice

Shane shut the door to the shed alike on the rest

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 251

of her words and the scene behind him, as he
entered the structure. He stepped on to the round
green disk of the drop pad.

Subfloor twenty, he told it, and the alien-built
elevator obeyed, dropping him swiftly toward his
destination, twenty floors beneath the surface of
the surrounding city.

Its fall stopped with equal suddenness; and his
knees bent under a deceleration that would not
have been noticed by an Aalaag. He stepped for-
ward into a wide corridor with black and white
tiles on its polished floor, with walls and ceiling of
a hard, uniformly gray material.

A male Aalaag officer sat at the duty desk oppo-
site the elevator, engaged in conversation with
someone in the communication screen set in the
surface of the desk before him. Shane had halted
at once after his first step out of the dropshoot and
stood motionless, until the talk was ended and the
Aalaag cut the connection, looking up at him.

Tam Shane Evert, translator-courier for the First
Captain, untarnished sir, said Shane as the pale,
heavy-boned and expressionless human-like face,
under its mane of pure white hair, considered him.
This particular alien had seen him at least a cou-
ple of hundred of times previously; but most Aalaag
were not good at distinguishing one human from
another, even if the two were of opposite sexes.

The Aalaag continued to stare, waiting.

T have returned from a courier run, Shane
went on, and the untarnished sir on duty at the
roof parking area said I was ordered to report
myself immediately to the First Captain. The desk
officer looked down and spoke again into his com-
munications screenchecking, of course, on what
Shane had said. Ordinarily, the movements of a
single human would be of little concern to any

252 Far Frontiers

Aalaag, but entrance to the apartments of the First
Captain, along the corridor to Shane's right, was a
matter of unique security. Shane glanced briefly
and longingly along the corridor in the opposite
direction toward his left and his own distant
quarters, with those of the other translators, and
such other private servants of Lyt Ahn, or his mate-
consort, the female Adtha Or Ain.

Shane had been continuously on duty and in the
presence of Aalaag for three days, culminating in
that disasterous, if still secret, act of insanity he
had given way to in Milan. His desire to return to
his own quarters, to be alone, was like a living
hunger in him, a desperate hunger to lock himself
away in a place that for a moment would be closed
off, away from all the daily terrors and orders; a
place where he could at last put aside his constant
fears and lick his wounds in peace.

You may report as instructed.

The voice of the Aalaag on duty behind the desk
cut across his thoughts.

T obey, untarnished sir, he answered.

He turned to his right and went away down the
long hall, hearing the clicking of his heels on the
hard tiles underfoot echoing back from the unyield-
ing walls. Along those walls at intervals of what
would be not more than half a dozen strides for an
Aalaag, hung long-weaponsequivalents of human
riflesarmed and ready for use. But for all their
real deadliness, they were there for show only, a
part of the militaristic Aalaag culture pattern that
justified the name of House of Weapons for this
abode of Lyt Ahn.

A house of weapons it was indeed; but its mili-
tary potency lay not in the awesomely destructive,
by human standards, devices on its walls. Behind
the silver protective screen that covered the build-

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 253

ing were larger mounted devices capable of level-
ing to slagged ruin the earth surrounding, to and
beyond the horizon in all directions. For a mo-
ment Shane was reminded of what he had not
thought of for years, of those human military units
that, in the first few days of the Aalaag landing on
Earth, had been foolish enough to try resisting the
alien invasion. They had been destroyed almost
without thought on the invaders part, like tiny
hills of ants trodden underfoot by giants.

To any engine of destruction known to human
science and technology, including the nuclear ones,
even a single Aalaag in full battle armor was
invulnerable. Against the least weapon carried by
an individual Aalaag, no human army could, in
the end, survive. Nor would an Aalaag weapon
work in the hands of any but one of the aliens. It
was not merely a matter of humans understanding
how to activate it. There was also some built-in
recognition by the weapon itself that it was not in
alien hands, which in others turned it into no
more than a dead piece of heavy material; at most,
a weighty club.

Walking down the wide, high-ceilinged, solitary
corridor where no other figures, human or alien,
were to be seen, Shane felt coming over him once
again a sensation he hated, but which he never
seemed to be able to escape from here, the sense of
shrinking that always took him over in this place.

It was a feeling like that which Swift's hero,
Lemuel Gulliver, had described in Gullivers Travels,
as happening when he had found himself in the
land of the giant Brobdingnagians. Like Gulliver,
then, each time Shane found himself in this place,
a time would come when he would begin to feel
that it was the Aalaag and all their artifacts which
were normal in size; while he, like all other hu-

254 Far Frontiers

mans and human creations, were shrunken to the
scale of pygmies. Shrunken, not only in a physical
sense but in all other senses as well; in mind and
spirit and courage and wisdom, in all those things
that could make one race into something more
than mere cattle to another.

He checked abruptly, passing a door that was
uncharacteristically human-sized in one wall of
that overlarge hall; and turned in through it to
one of the few rooms on this corridor equipped to
dispose of human waste. There would be no telling
how long he might be in the presence of Lyt Ahn,
and there would be no excusing himself then for
physical or personal needs. No Aalaag would have
dreamed of so excusing himself while on duty, and
therefore no human servant might.

He stood before a urinal, emptying his bladder
with a momentary sense of stolen freedom, only
secondary to that which he yearned for in his own
quarters. Here, too, for the moment, in theory he
was free of Aalaag observation and rules, and the
Gulliver-like sensation lifted, briefly.

But the moment passed. A minute later he was
toy-sized again, back outside in the corridor, walk-
ing ever nearer to the entrance of Lyt Ahns pri-
vate office.

He stopped at last before great double doors of
bronze-colored material. With the tip of the index
figure of his right hand, he lightly touched the
smooth surface of the panel closest to him.

There was a pause. He could not hear, but he
knew, that within the office a sensor had recorded
his touch as being that of a human and a mechani-
cal voice was announcing that a beast desires
admittance.

Who? came an Aalaag voice from the ceiling.

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 255

Unusually, it was not that of an Aalaag secretary
or aide but of Lyt Ahn himself.

One of your cattle, most immaculate sir, an-
swered Shane. Shane Evert, reporting as ordered,
following a courier run to the immaculate sir in
command at Milan, Italy.

The right hand door swung open and Shane
walked through it, into the office. Under a white
ceiling as lofty as that of the hall, and large enough
for a small ballroom by human standards, the
gray-colored desk, the chairs, the couches standing
on the rugless floor wearing the same black-and-
white tiles, were all almost human in their design.
Only the fact that they were all built to the scale
of the eight-foot aliens made them different. That,
and the fact that there was no padding or uphol-
stery on any of them.

Lyt Ahn was indeed alone, seated, looming be-
hind his desk; which held in its surface a screen
like that in the desk of the officer in the corridor,
plus a scattering of some small artifacts, each tiny
enough to be encompassed in Shane's merely hu-
man hand, but showing no recognizable shapes or
purposes. In a like situation, on a human desk,
they might have been miniature sculptures. But
the Aalaag owned no art, nor showed interest in
any. What they really were, and their purpose in
being there, still puzzled him. On the wall to his
right was a larger screen, now unlit, some three by
two meters in area. In the left wall was an Aalaag-
sized single door that led to Lyt Ahns private
apartments.

Lyt Ahn raised his head to look at Shane as the
human stepped through the doorway, taking one
pace and then halting.

Come here, the alien commander said; and,
both permitted and orderedthe words were one

256 Far Frontiers

word in AalaagShane came up to the far side of
the desk.

The First Captain of all Earth gazed at him. Just
as Aalaag had difficulty distinguishing between
individual humans, so most humans, aside from
the fact that they saw their overlords most com-
monly in armor and therefore faceless, were not
adept at telling one Aalaag from another. Shane
gazed back. He had been in close contact with the
alien commander since Lyt Ahn had formed his
corps of human interpreters, nearly three years
before. Shane not only recognized the First Captain,
he had become expert at studying the other for
small clues to his masters momentary mood. Like
all subjects he was dependent, in this case depen-
dent upon the First Captain not only for food and
shelter, but for a continuance of life itself. He
studied the First Captain daily, as a lamb might
study the lion with which it was required to lie
down each night; and just at the moment, he
thought now that he read fatigue and a deep-seated
worry, plus something else he could not identify,
in the visage of the towering individual before
him.

Laa Ehon, of the fifth rank and Commander of
the Milan garrison has received your sending, most
immaculate sir, and sends his courtesies to the
First Captain, said Shane. He returned no mes-
sage by me.

Did he not, little Shane-beast? said Lyt Ahn.
Shane's name was uttered in as close to an affec-
tionate diminutive as the alien language allowed;
but the words were obviously spoken more to him-
self than the human.

Shane's heart took an upward leap. Lyt Ahn was
clearly in as warm and confidential a mood as it
was possible for an Aalaag to beand more so

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 257

than Shane had ever seen any other alien permit
himself. Nonetheless, there was also that impres-
sion of worry and some concern for an unknown
source that he had noted on first entering the room;
and he continued covertly to study the heavy-boned
face opposite. There was a greater impression of
age about his master than he had ever seen before,
although the face was barely lined, as always; and
there was no way that age could have made the
hair of the Earths supreme commander any whiter
than that of any other adult Aalaagit would have
been yellowish at birth, but purely snow-colored
by puberty, which in the aliens seemed to come
about the age of eighteen to twenty-five Earthly
years.

Nor was there anything else different about the
grayish eyes in the pale Aalaag skin that never
appeared to tan. With its great, sharp bones and
pale color it gave the impression of being carved
out of a soft, gray-white stone. But still, somehow
it also managed to give Shane not only the impres-
sion of great age, but of that same weariness and
emotion that currently seemed to be at work in
the First Captain.

As Shane watched, the massive figure got slowly
to its feet, walked around from behind its desk and
sat down on one of the couches. The change of
position was a signal that the meeting had now
become informal. Lyt Ahn was dressed in black
boots and a white, single-piece suit, like any other
alien on duty. Shane turned as the other moved, in
order to keep facing his maste1; and, after a
moment, saw the eyes that had been more looking
through him than otherwise, focus once more di-
rectly upon him.

Come here, Shane-beast, said Lyt Ahn.

Shane moved forward until he stood one step

258 Far Frontiers

from the seated alien. Lyt Ahn studied him for a
long moment. Their heads were on a level. Then,
reaching out, he cupped an enormous hand gently,
for a moment, over Shanes head.

Shane checked his body from tensing just in
time. Physical contact was almost unknown amongst
the Aalaag themselves, and unheard of between
Aalaag and human; but Shane had learned over
the last two years that Lyt Ahn permitted himself
freedoms beyond those generally used by those
lesser in rank than himself. The large hand that
could easily have crushed the bones of Shane's
skull rested lightly for a moment on Shane's head
and then was withdrawn.

Little Shane-beast, said Lyt Ahnand unless
it was his imagination it seemed to Shane that he
heard in the Aalaag voice the same tiredness he
had suspected in the First Captains face are
you contented?

There was no word in the Aalaag language for
happy. Contented was the closest possible ex-
pression to it. Shane felt a sudden fear of an un-
known trap in the question; and for a second he
debated telling Lyt Ahn that he was, indeed,
contented. But the Aalaag could accept nothing
but truth; and the First Captain had always al-
lowed his human interpreters a freedom of opin-
ion no other Aalaag permitted.

No, most immaculate sir, Shane answered. I
would be contented only if this world was as it
was before the untarnished race came among us.

Lyt Ahn did not sigh. But Shane, used to the
First Captain, and having studied him as only
children, animals and slaves have always studied
those who hold their life and every freedom in
their hands, received the clear impression that the

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 259

other would have sighed if he had only been physi-
ologically and psychologically capable of doing so.

Yes, said the First Captain, absently looking
through him once more, your race makes un-
happy cattle, true enough.

Fear came back to Shane and chilled him to the
bone. He told himself that Lyt Ahn could by no
means have discovered this soon what he had done
illegally in Milan; but the words the alien supreme
commander had just now used came too close to
his knowledge of guilt not to cause him to stiffen
internally.

For a second he debated trying to entice Lyt Ahn
to be more explicit about whatever had caused
him to make such a remark. Ordinarily, a human
did not speak unless ordered to do so. But the First
Captain had always allowed Shane and the other
translators unusual freedom in that respect. Shane
checked, however, at the thought for two reasons.
One, his uncertainty of how such a question could
be phrased without offense; and two, a fear that if
Lyt Ahn did indeed suspect him of some violation
of proper conduct, any such asking would only
confirm the suspicion.

He stood silent, therefore, and simply waited, in
the helplessness of the totally dependent. Either
Lyt Ahn would speak further, or the First Captain
would dismiss him; and neither of these things
could Shane control.

Do you find your fellow cattle in any way differ-
ent these days, Shane-beast? asked Lyt Ahn.

Shane thought involuntarily of the small tene-
ment room in Milan to which he had been kid-
napped; and in which he had been held and ques-
tioned by those human revolutionaries who had
innocently adopted as their symbol the rude sketch
he had himself conceived of a year earlier, in a

260 Far Frontiers

moment of drunken desperationthough that was
not something they or any other, human or alien,
could have known.

No, most immaculate sir, he answered; and
felt the danger of his lie like a heavy weight in his
chest.

There was another pause that could have been a
sigh from Lyt Ahn.

No, said the alien commander, perhaps ...
perhaps even if there were, it would not be such as
you they would admit their feelings to. Your fel-
low cattle do not love those who work for us, do
they, little Shane-beast?

No, said Shane, truthfully and bitterly.

It was that very fact that required him to wear

the pilgrims cloak and carry the pilgrims staff
when he moved about the Earth on Lyt Ahns
business. Among so many true wearers of that
costume, it became a cloak of protective anonymity,
particularly with the hood of the cloak pulled up
over his head and shadowing his features. If he
had betrayed the fact that he was actually a ser-
vant of the aliens his life would literally have been
in danger from his fellow humans, from the mo-
ment he was out of sight of an Aalaag, or one of
the armed human Interior Guardswho themselves
did not dare go among the mass of ordinary hu-
mans without their uniforms and unarmed. Lyt
Ahn was in a strange mood, with his mind off on
some problem which at this moment was still un-
clear to Shane; but which had plainly directed his
attention elsewhere than at Shane himself. It oc-
curred to Shane suddenly that now might be an
opportunity to cover his tracks in regard to the
lesser matter of his having lied to Laa Ehon, the
Aalaag commanding the Milan area, when that

HoOuSE OF WEAPONS 261

alien had asked him what price Lyt Ahn might put
upon him.

Tf the most immaculate sir pleases, Shane said,
this beast was asked a question by the sir who is
called Laa Ehon. The question was what price my
master might put upon me.

So, replied Lyt Ahn, his thoughts clearly still
occupied with that primary concern Shane had
noted in him. The First Captains response was in
fact no response at all, merely an acknowledge-
ment of the fact that he had heard what Shane
had said. Shane allowed himself to hope.

T answered, said Shane, that to the best of
my knowledge, the most immaculate sir had val-
ued all of his translator-beasts at half a possession
of land Shane tried to keep his voice unchanged
but for a fraction of a second his breath caught in
his throatand the favor of my master.

So, said Lyt Ahn, still in the same tone of
voice.

He had heard, but clearly he had not heard. Inter-
nally, Shane felt the weakness of relief. The truth
was that Lyt Ahn had never, to Shane's knowledge,
put any kind of price on Shane or any of the other
humans in the translator section. Shane had gam-
bled in answering Laa Ehon that the First Captain
would not remember whether he had or notand
the gamble had now paid off. The half a possession
of land, in what it represented in terms of Earthly
territory according to Aalaag measurements, was
a princely enough price for any single human beast.
But the favor which Shane had mentioned meant
far more. Effectively, its meaning was that in addi-
tion to any other price, the buyer could be called
upon at any time in the future to return an as-yet-
unnamed favor to the buyer, with a worth in di-
rect proportion as the buyer envisaged its value. In

262 Far Frontiers

theory, at least, the cost of buying Shane might
include Lyt Ahns calling upon Laa Ehon some-
time in the future for anything the other owned,
up to and including his life.

A single musical note from the door leading to
the private apartments of the First Captain inter-
rupted the thoughts of both Shane and Lyt Ahn.

The door swung open to let in a second Aalaag.
But this one was a femaleand Shane recognized
her with something close to panic. She was Adtha
Or Ain, the consort of Lyt Ahn; and the panic arose
from the fact that Shane was, for the first time in
a long time, encountering a situation involving
Aalaag mores with which he was not familiar.
When, on rare occasions before this, he had to do
with the consort of the First Captain, it had been
with her alone; when he had been sent about the
planet with one of her private messages.

His encounters with her had been purely formal
and entirely conducted within the known code of
behavior between Aalaag and human beast. On
the other hand his private meetings with Lyt Ahn
had largely come to be informal. There was no
way of telling now how she would react to the
informality he was used to being permitted by Lyt
Ahn. On the other hand, it would raise the ques-
tion of his disobeying Lyt Ahns authority if he
suddenly reverted to the formal mode, after Lyt
Ahn, by sitting down on the couch, had, in effect,
ordered him to abandon it. There was no way for
him to tell whether, if either should address him,
he should respond in the formal or the informal
mode. Either mode could be a response that would
offend either Lyt Ahn or Adtha Or Ain.

Shane stood motionless and silent, praying that
he would be ignored by both aliens. He studied
Adtha Or Ain as he had studied Lyt Ahn earlier

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 263

and for the same reasons. There was something
like a bitterness that he had always noted in her,
but it had always seemed to be hard held under
control. In this moment, however, that control
seemed to have loosened.

For the moment, his luck seemed to be holding.
Lyt Ahn had risen from the couch and gone to
meet Adtha Or Ain. They stopped, facing each other,
an Aalaag arm's length apart, looking into each
other's faces.

Adtha Or Ain was slightly the taller of the two;
but, aside from that, if Shane had not come to
recognize the sexual differences in Aalaag bodies,
it would have been hard to tell the two apart.
Their dress was identical. Only the slight individu-
ality of their features, that individuality which
Shane had finally taught himself to look for over
these past years, and the difference in their voices,
marked them apart. Adult Aalaag females, like hu-
man ones, tended to speak in somewhat higher
voices than the males of their racealthough the
difference was nowhere near as marked as in
humansparticularly in the case of an older Aalaag
female like Adtha Or Ain, whose voice had deep-
ened with age.

Now, the two stood facing each other. There was
a tension between them that Shane sensed strongly,
and with that sensing came another wave of relief.
If these two would just stay completely concerned
with each other, he would in effect be invisibleof
no more importance to them than the furniture in
the room; and the chances of either requiring an
answer from him were almost nil. For the first
time, Shane dared to look on them as an observer
might, rather than as a potential victim of their
Meeting.

They did not touch. Nonetheless, Shane's experi-

264 Far Frontiers

ence with the Aalaag, and elsewhere, let him read
into their confrontation a closenesslove was a
word that did not exist in the Aalaag language
which implied that, had they been humans, they
might have touched. At the same time, however,
Shane felt a sadness and an anger in Adtha Or Ain
and a sort of helpless pity in Lyt Ahn.

The two ignored him.

Perhaps, said Lyt Ahn, you should rest.

No, said Adtha Or Ain. Rest is no rest to me,
at times like this.

You make yourself suffer unnecessarily.

She turned aside and walked around the First
Captain. He turned also to look after her. She went
to the wall bearing the large screen; and although
Shane could not see her make any motion to turn
it on, it woke to light and image before her, the
starkness of what it showed dominating the room.

The three-dimensional shape on it was the last
that Shane could have imagined. It was of an adult
male Aalaag, without armor, but carrying all per-
sonal weapons and encased in a block of some-
thing brownishly transparent, like a fly in amber.

It was only after he got past his first shock of
seeing it and began to examine it in detail, that he
noticed two unusual things. One was that there
was a faintish yellow tinge to the roots of the
white hair on the head of the encased Aalaag, and
the secondit was unbelievable, but the Aalaag
shown was alive, if completely helpless.

He could see the pupils of gray eyes move
minutely, as he watched. They were focused on
something that seemed to be outside the scene
imaged on the screen. Other expression there was
nonenor could be any, since the face, like all the
rest of the body, was imprisoned and held immo-
bile by the enclosing material.

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 265

No, said Lyt Ahn behind him.

Shane's ears, sharpened by over two years of
servitude, heard that rare thing, a note of emotion
in an Aalaag voice; and, faint as it was, he read it
clearly as a note of pain. Those years of attuning
himself to the moods of the First Captain had
finally created a bond that was all but empathic
between them; and his own emotions felt Lyt Ahns
in this moment without uncertainty.

T must look at it, said Adtha Or Ain, standing
before the screen.

Lyt Ahn took three steps forward, moving up
behind her. His two great hands reached out part
way toward her shoulders and then fell back to his
sides.

Its only a conception, he said. A mock-up.
You ve no reason for assuming it represents reality.
Almost certainly no such thing has happened. Un-
doubtedly he and his team are dead, destroyed
utterly.

But perhaps he is like this, said Adtha Or Ain,
without turning her head from the screen. Maybe
they have him so, and will keep him so for thou-
sands of lifetimes. I will have no more children. I
had only this one, and perhaps this is how he is
now.

Lyt Ahn stood, saying nothing. She turned to
face him.

You let him go, she said.

You knowas I know, he answered. Some of
us must keep watch on the Inner Race who stole
our homes, in case they move again and the move-
ment is in this direction. He was my sonmy son
as well as yoursand he wanted to be one of those
to go and check.

You could have denied him. I asked you to
order him to stay. You did not.

266 Far Frontiers

How could I?

By speaking.

Shane had never before seen emotion at this
level between two of the normally expressionless
Aalaagi and he felt like someone tossed about in a
hurricane. He could not leave; but to stay and
listen was all but unbearable. Against his will, the
empathic response he had so painstakingly devel-
oped to the feelings of Lyt Ahn was at him now
with a pain he felt at second hand, pain he could
not understand or do anything about.

In a thousand lifetimes, she said, a thousand
lifetimes and more, they made no sign of moving
again. They only wanted our worlds, our homes;
and once they had them they were content enough.
We all know that. Why send our children back to
what's theirs nowso that they can catch them
and make toys for themselves of our flesh and
bloodmake a toy and a thing of my son?

There was no choice, said Lyt Ahn. Could I
protect my son before otherswhen he'd asked to
go?

He was a child. He didn't know.

It was his duty. It was my dutyand your
dutyto let him go. So the Aalaag survive. You
know your duty. And I tell you again, you've no
way of knowing hes not at peace, safely dead and
destroyed. You make yourself a nightmare of the
one most unlikely thing that could happen.

Prove it to me, Adtha Or Ain said. Send an
expedition to find out.

You know I cant. Not yet. We've only held this
world three of its years. Its not properly tamed,
yet. The crew, the needs for the expedition you
want aren't to spare.

You promised me.

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 267

T promised to send an expedition as soon as
team and materials were to spare.

And its been three years, and still you say
there're none.

None for only a possibilitynone for what may
be nothing more than a nightmare grown in your
own mind. As soon as I can in duty and honor
spare people for something of that level, the expe-
dition will go. I promise you. It will bring back the
truth of what happened to our son. But not yet.

She turned from him.

Three years, she said.

These beasts are not like some on other worlds
we ve taken. Ive done with this planet as much as
I might, given the force I had to work with. No one

could do more. You are unfair, Adtha Or Ain.

Silently, she turned, crossed the room once more
and passed back through the doorway by which
she had entered. Its doors closed behind her.

Lyt Ahn stood for a moment, then looked at the
screen. It went blank and gray once more. He
turned and went to sit down again at his desk,
touching the smaller screen inset in it and appar-
ently returning to the work he had been doing
when Shane had come in.

Shane continued to stand, unmoving. He stood,
and the minutes went by. It was not unusual that
a human should have to hold his place indefinitely,
waiting for the attention of an Aalaag; and Shane
was trained to it. But this time his mind was a
seething, bewildered mass. He longed for the First
Captain to remember he was there and do some-
thing about him.

A very long time later, it seemed, Lyt Ahn did
lift his head from his screen and his eyes took
notice of Shane's presence.

268 Far Frontiers

You may go, he said. His gaze was back on the
desk screen before the words had left his lips.

Shane turned and left.

He went back down the long corridor, past the
Aalaag officer still on duty at the desk and after
some distance, to the door of his own cubicle.
Opening that door at last, he saw, seated in the
room's single armchair by the narrow bed, a hu-
man figure. It was one of the other translators, a
brown-haired young woman named Sylvia Onjin.

T heard you were back, she told him.

He made himself smile at her. How she had
heard did not matter. There was an informational
grapevine among all humans in the House of
Weapons, that operated entirely without reference
to whether the giver and receiver of information
were personally on good terms. It was to the bene-
fit of all humans in the House that as much as
possible be known about the activities of both
Aalaag and humans there.

Probably, word of his return had been passed
through the ranks of the Interior Guards, either
directly to the corps of translators, or by way of
one of the other groups of human specialists per-
sonally owned and used by The First Captain.

What did matter was that now, of all times, was
not a moment in which he wanted to see heror
anyone. The need for privacy was so strong in him
that he felt ready to break down emotionally and
mentally if he did not have it. But he could not
easily tell her to go.

The humans owned by Lyt Ahn, being picked
beasts and therefore of good quality, were encour-
aged to intermingle; and even to mate and have
young if they wished, although Aalaag mores stood
in the way of the aliens making any specific com-
mand or order that they do so. Only the Interior

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 269

Guard welcomed the idea of being parents under
these conditions: None of those in the translator
ranks had any desire to perpetuate their kind as
slaves of the aliens. But still, sheer physical and
emotional hungers drew individuals together.

Sylvia Onjin and Shane had been two so drawn.
They had no real lust or love for each other, in the
ordinary senses of those words. Only, they found
each other slightly more compatible than either
found others of the human opposite sex in the
House of Weapons. In the world as it had been
before the Aalaag came, Shane thought now, if
they two had met they would almost undoubtedly
have parted again immediately with no great de-
sire to see more of each other. But in this place
they clung instinctively together.

But the thought of Sylvias company, now, when
his mind was in turmoil and his emotions had just
been stretched to a breaking-point, was more than
Shane could face. At best, it was only an act he
and she played together, a pretense that erected a
small, flimsy and temporary private existence for
them both; away from the alien-dominated world
that held their lives and daily actions in its indif-
ferent hand. Also, now, after Shanes encounter
with the other young woman, the one called Maria,
whom he had saved from questioning by the Aalaag,
and who had been a member of the Milanese resis-
tance group that had later kidnapped him, there
was something about Sylvia that almost repelled
him, the way a tamed animal might suffer in com-
parison with one still wild and free.

But the narrow face of Sylvia smiled confidently
back up at him. Her smile was her best feature;
and in the days before the Aalaag she might have
emphasized her other good features with makeup
to the point where she could have been considered

270 Far Frontiers

attractive, if not seductive. But the aliens classed
lipstick and all such other beauty aids with that
uncleanliness they were so adamant in erasing from
any world they owned. To an Aalaag, a woman
with makeup on had merely dirtied her face. Ordi-
nary humans, in private, might indulge in such
actions, but not those human servants which the
Aalaag saw daily.

So Sylvia's face was starkly clean, pale-looking
under her close-cropped, ordinary brown hair. It
was a small-boned face. She was a woman of one
hundred and thirty-four centimeters in height
barely over five feet, a corner of Shane's western
mind automatically calculatedand narrow-bodied
even for that height. Her figure was unremarkable,
but not bad for a woman in her early twenties.
Like Shane himself she had been a graduate stu-
dent when the Aalaag landed.

She sat now with her legs crossed, the skirt of
the black taffeta cocktail dress she had put on
lifted by the action to reveal her knees. In her lap
was a heavy-looking, cylindrical object about ten
inches long wrapped in white documentary paper,
held in place by a narrow strip of such paper
wrapped around its neck, formed into a bow and
colored red, apparently by some homemade sub-
stance, since such a thing as red tapelet alone the
red ribbon the paper strip was evidently intended
to mimicwas not something which the Aalaag
would find any reason for allowing.

Happy homecoming! She held it out to him.

He stepped forward automatically and took it,
making himself smile back at her. He could feel
through the paper that it was obviously a full
bottle of something. He hardly drank, as she knew
there was too much danger of making some mis-
take in front of their owners if some unexpected

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 271

call to duty should comebut it was about the
only gift available for any of them to give each
other. He held it, feeling how obvious the falseness
of his smile must be. The image of Maria was still
between thembut then suddenly it cleared and it
was as if he saw Sylvia unexpectedly wiped clean
of all artifice, naked in her hopes and fears as in
the pretentions with which she strove to battle
those fears.

His heart turned suddenly within him. It was a
physical feeling like a palpable lurch in his chest.
He saw Sylvia clearly for the first time and under-
stood that he could never betray her, could never
deny help to her in this or any like moment. For
all that, there was not even the shadow of real love
between them. He felt his smile become genuine
and tender as he looked down at her; and he felt
not the actual love for which she yearned, or even
the pretense of it, for which she was willing to
settlebut a literal affection that was based in the
fact that they were simply two humans together in
this alien house.

Not understanding the reasons for it, but in-
stinctively recognizing the emotion that had come
into him, she rose suddenly and came into his
arms; and he felt a strong gush of tenderness, such
as he had never felt before in his long months in
this place of weapons, that made him hold her
tightly to him.

Later, lying on his back in the darkness, the
slight body of Sylvia sleeping contentedly beside
him, he was assaulted by an unexpected tidal wave
of self-pity that washed over him and threatened
to drown him. He fought it off; and after a while
he, too, slept.

He was roused from deep slumber by the burr-
ing of his bedside phone. He reached out toward it

272 Far Frontiers

and the action triggered to life the light over the
nightstand where the square screen of the phone
sat. He touched the screen and the face of an Aalaag
above the collar of a duty officer appeared on it.

You are ordered to attend the First Captain,
beast, said the officer s deep, remote voice. Report
to him in the Council Conference Room.

T hear and obey, untarnished sir, Shane heard
his own voice, still thick with sleep, answering.

The screen went blank, leaving a silvery gray,
opaque surface. Shane rose and dressed. Sylvia
was already gone and the chronometer by his bed
showed that the hour was barely past dawn.

Twenty minutes later, shaven, clean and dressed,
he touched the bronze surface of the door to the
Council Conference Room.

Come, said the voice of Lyt Ahn.

The door opened itself and he entered to find
twelve Aalaag, five males and seven females, seated
around the floating, shimmering surface that served
them as a conference table. Lyt Ahn sat at the far
end. On his right was Laa Ehon, the Commander
for the area capitaled in Milan, Italy; and for a
second a dryness tightened Shanes throat as he
remembered his secret crimes against that officer
and his Command. But then common sense reas-
serted itself. No such august assemblage would be
convened only to deal with the criminal acts of a
simple beast; and his tension slackened. He looked
down the table surface toward the First Captain
and waited for orders. He had halted instinctively,
from custom, two paces inside the opened door;
and the twelve powerful alien faces were studying
him as just-fed lions might study some small ani-
mal that had wandered into the midst of their
pride.

This is the one you spoke of? asked the female

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 273

Aalaag closest on Lyt Ahns left and second down
the table from him.

Her voice had the depth of age and it came to
Shane that shein fact, all the aliens herewould
be officers of no lower than the fifth rank. Other-
wise they would not have been called into a Coun-
cil such as this. He wondered what District the
speaker commanded. She was no alien he recog-
nized.

Tt is one of the cattle I call Shane-beast, said
Lyt Ahn. It is the one I sent only the day before
yesterday to Laa Ehon with communications.

He turned to look at the Commander of the
Milanese area.

T'm still uncertain as to how you think his pres-
ence here can contribute to the discussion, he
went on to Laa Ehon.

Order it to speak, replied Laa Ehon.

Tdentify yourself and your work, Lyt Ahn said
to Shane.

By your command, immaculate sir, said Shane
clearly, I am a translator and courier of your staff
and have been so for nearly three of our planet's
years.

There was a moment's silence around the table.

Remarkable, said the female Aalaag on Lyt
Ahns right, who had spoken earlier.

Exactly, put in Laa Ehon. Notice how per-
fectly it speaks the true languageall of you who
are so used to the limited mouthings of your beasts,
when they can be brought to attempt to communi-
cate in real speech at all.

Its one of a special, limited corps of the
creatures, all of whom have been selected for spe-
cial ability in this regard, said Lyt Ahn. Im still
waiting to hear how you think, Laa Ehon, that its
presence here can contribute to our discussion.

274 Far Frontiers

 Special,  echoed Laa Ehon. The single sound
of the word in the Aalaag Tongue was completely
without emphasis.

As I said, replied Lyt Ahn.

Laa Ehon turned his head to the First Captain,
inclined it in a brief gesture of respect, and then
turned back to look around the table at the others
there.

Lets return to the matter in hand, then, Laa
Ehon said. I asked for this meeting because its
been three local years approximately since our
Expedition to this world first set down upon it.
That length of time has now passed and certain
signs of adjustments to our presence here, in the
attitudes of the local dominant race, that should
by now be showing themselves, have not done
so

The incidence of yowaragh among the beasts,

interrupted the female who had spoken before,
isn't that much above the norm for such a period.
Granted, no two situations on any two acquired

a)

worlds are ever the same

Granted exactly that, Laa Ehon reinterrupted
in his turn, it is not yowaragh with which I am
primarily concerned, but a general failure on the
part of the cattle to keep production levels as
expected. Past Expeditions on other worlds have
found such a slump in production in their early
years, but always its turned out in the end to be
caused by depression in the beasts at finding them-
selves governedeven though that governing has
resulted for them in a safer, cleaner worldas it
has here. On this world, however, it is something
much more like silent defiance than depression
with which we seem to be dealing. I repeat, it is
this, not incidents of yowaragh, with which I am
concerned.

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 275

A cold shiver threatened to emerge from its hid-
ing place in the center of Shane's body and betray
itself as a visible tremor. With a great effort, he
held it under control, reminding himself that the
aliens here were not watching him. For the moment,
once more, he had become invisible, in the same
sense that the furniture and the walls of the room
about them were invisible.

. It is, Laa Ehons voice drew his attention
back to what the Milanese Commander was saying
to the rest of the table, a matter of hard statistics.
May I remind the untarnished and immaculate
officers here assembled that the preliminary sur-
vey of this world, carried on over several decades
of the planets time, gave no intimation of such an
attitude or such a potential falling off of production.
The projection gave us instead every reason to
believe that the local dominant race should be
tameable and useful in a high degree; especially
when faced with the alternative of giving up the
level of civilization they had so far achieved; and
on which, in so many ways, they had become
dependent. Remember, they were given a free choice
and they chose the merciful alternative.

Tve never been quite sure, Laa Ehon, put in
Lyt Ahn from the head of the table, about the
accuracy of that adjective for the alternative. It
doesnt seem to me that I can bring to mind a
single incident in which a race of conquered cattle
believed the alternative they had chosen to be one
deserving of the word merciful. 

It was clear they understood at the time of
takeover, First Captain, said Laa Ehon, even if
your corps of translators had not yet been estab-
lished. I remember there was no doubt that they
understood that their choice was between accept-
ing the true race as their masters, or having all

276 Far Frontiers

their cities and technology reduced to rubble, leav-
ing them at their original level of stone-chipping
savages. How can that alternative not have been
merciful when they also clearly understood that
we also had the power to eradicate each and every
one of them from the face of their planet, but
chose not to use it?

Well, well, said Lyt Ahn, perhaps you're right.
In any case, lets avoid side issues. Please get to
whatever point you were going to make.

Of course, First Captain, said Laa Ehon.

The words were said mildly enough; but for the
first time it exploded in Shanes mind what he
suddenly realized he should have sensed from the
first: and that was that there was a power struggle
going on in this room, at this table.

And the antagonists were Laa Ehon and Lyt
Ahn.

Immediately the realization was born in him,
his mind was ready with excuses for its not being
obvious to him minutes before. Even six weeks
ago, he told himself, he would not have recognized
the subtle signals of such a conflict, blinded by an
unquestioning assumption that his masters su-
preme position among the Aalaag was unquestioned
and unassailable. But now those same signals
leaped out at him. They were everywhere, in the
tone of the voices of those speaking, in the atti-
tudes with which the various officers sat in their
places about the tablein the very fact Laa Ehon
could request that Lyt Ahn have Shane himself
brought here; and then delay this long in giving
his full reasons why he had requested it.

Shane had not read those signals more swiftly
because he had been too secure in his belief in Lyt
Ahns authority. Only now, the curious small free-
doms allowed him by the First Captain, as well as

HOuSE OF WEAPONS 277

the momentary Aalaag-uncharacteristic confidences
and transient betrayals of emotion on the part of
the ruling officer should have prepared him for
this moment of understanding, but had not.

Lyt Ahn, he suddenly realized, was vulnerable.
The First Captain had to be vulnerable in this
sense. Shane had come to understand how the
Aalaag lived by tradition and the mores developed
by that tradition. Tradition and those mores could
not have failed to provide means for removing a
supreme commander who became incapable or
proved himself inept. Just how such a procedure
would work, Shane as yet had no idea. But of this
he was suddenly, utterly convinced. Lyt Ahn was
under attack here and now; and Laa Ehon was
either the attacker or the spearhead of that attack.

As for the others persent . .. Shane was reminded
of the social patterns of a wolf pack. All those
there would follow unquestioningly the Alpha
leaderwho was Lyt Ahnright up until the mo-
ment when his leadership was seriously brought
into question. Then, if that question was not effec-
tively answered, they would turn to follow the
questioner and aid him in rending their former
leader. But if it was effectively answered, then the
questioner would lose all support from themuntil
the next time of questioning. It was that moment
of doubt in which the majority would swing be-
hind the questioner that Lyt Ahn must foresee and
avoid.

... I have requested this meeting, Laa Ehon
was saying, primarily because of my own difficul-
ties in meeting production estimates with the cat-
tle of my area; and hoping that my fellow senior
officers could suggest ways by which I might im-
prove the situation. I must admit, however, that it
begins to appear to me lately that the problems I

278 Far Frontiers

notice are not restricted to my district alone, but
reflect a general problem of attitude which is world-
wideand may even be growingamong the sub-
ject beasts.

Tt seems to me, broke in a thick-chested male
Aalaag halfway down the table on Lyt Ahns right,
that what you say almost approaches insult to
the rest of us. Laa Ehon, are you saying we others
have failed to notice something that you've clearly
seen?

T did not say, or imply, that I had seen any-
thing with particular clearness, said Laa Ehon.
Tm only attempting to point to the importance of
something you must all have already noticed
the discrepancy between the original estimates of
beast-adjustment to our presence in the time since
our landing, and the actuality of that adjustment.
I believe theres cause for concern in that dis-
crepancy.

We've been following the patterns established
by successful subjugations on other worlds in the
past, said another of the female Aalaag, one whose
face showed the hollowness of age beneath her cheek-
bones. It is true, as Maa Alyn just said, that each
world is different, each race of beasts different

And some, a rare few such races, have even
turned out to be failures, said Laa Ehon.

A feeling of shock permeated the conference, per-
ceptible to Shane where it might not have been to
any other human, even another one of the special
handful of humans employed by Lyt Ahn; the ex-
pressions of the Aalaag officers there had not
changed at Laa Ehons last words. There had been
only an unnaturally prolonged moment of unnatu-
ral silence; but Shane was sure he had read it
correctly.

It seems to me, Laa Ehon, said Lyt Ahn, fi-

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 279

nally breaking that silence, his heavy voice sound-
ing strangely loud in the room, that youre holding
back something its in your mind to tell us. Did
you ask for this conference merely to air a concern,
or have you some special suggestion for us?

T have a suggestion, said Laa Ehon.

He turned to look again at Shane, and the eyes
of the others at the table followed the changed
angle of his gaze.

T suggest that the situation hereinsofar as
it reflects a delay in beast-adjustment to our
presencecalls for some actions which must neces-
sarily break to some small extent with the pat-
terns of successful subjugation mentioned by Maa
Alyn

He glanced toward and inclined his head slightly
toward the elderly Aalaag female who had recently
spoken.

T suggest, he went on, that we vary that
patternoh, in no large way, but experimentally,
by attempting to counter this marking on walls
we ve all been seeing in our districts, this evidence
of some rebellious feeling among a few of these



beasts

A chill passed through Shane. Clearly now,
Laa Ehon was talking of the activities of foolish
and doomed underground groups like Marias in
Milan; and the marking was equally clearly his
sketch of the pilgrim figure.

Such things, said the thick-chested Aalaag, are
familiar, even expected, during the early years of
the subjugation of any race of beasts. Such deface-
ments cease as succeeding generations adapt to
serving our purposes, and forget the resentments
of their forebearers. This is far too soon to see a
problem in a few rogue creatures.

T beg to disagree, said Laa Ehon. We know

280 Far Frontiers

that of course the beasts communicate among
themselves. This one standing before us now may
be aware of more discontent among its race than
we suspect

You suggest we put it to the question? in-
quired the female Aalaag called Maa Alyn, who
had been the first to reply to Laa Ehon; and the
chill within Shane became a solid iciness of fear.

Tf I may interrupt, said the heavy voice of Lyt
Ahn, almost sardonically, the beast in question is
my property. Moreover, it is an extremely valu-
able beast, as are all the talented small handful
like it that I keep and use. I would not agree to its
being questioned to destruction, without adequate
proof of need.

Of course I don't suggest the damaging of such
a valuable beast, particularly one which is the
property of the First Captain, and which I myself
have seen to be so useful. Laa Ehon turned back
to face Lyt Ahn. In fact, quite the contrary. I only
asked the beast be produced in order to illustrate
a point I think is important to us all. With all due
respect, First Captain, Ive yet to be convinced
that what this beast does cant also be done by at
least a large number of its fellow beasts, if not
most of them. Certainly, if they have the physical
vocal apparatus which can correctly approximate
the sounds of the true speechor even approach
those sounds understandablyand their minds have
the ability to organize that speech in coherent and
usable fashion, one almost has to assume this to
be a property common to their species as a whole.

IT can only assure you, said Lyt Ahn, with a
touch of formality in his voice, that this isnt the
case. There seems to be something more necessary
a conceptual ability, rare among them. At my or-
ders many such cattle were tested and only the

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 281

few I use here were found capable on a level with
this one you see before you. In fact, this particular
beast is the most capable of all those I own. None
speaks as accentlessly as this one.

Far be it from me to differ with you, First
Captain and immaculate sir, said Laa Ehon. You
are informed on this subject and Im not. Never-
theless, as I have pointed out, faced as we are with
a problem of adjustment on the part of this
species

-As you have continued to point out to us,
untarnished sir, said the thick-chested Aalaag,
almost to the point of weariness since we first sat
down together here.

If I have overemphasized the point, said Laa
Ehon, I apologize for that to the immaculate and
untarnished persons here assembled. It merely
seemed to me that enunciating the point is neces-
sary as a preamble to stating my personal belief;
and that is that under the circumstances its worth
exploring even some unorthodox solutions to the
problem, since it threatens to diminish world-wide
production by these beasts. A production, which I
don't need remind any of us, that is important, not
merely to us on this planet, but to all our true
people on all the worlds we have taken over; not
only for our present survival, but for the protec-
tion of the immaculate people as a whole in case
the inner race that stole our home worlds origi-
nally should make another move, this time in this
direction.

As you say,



murmured the voice of Lyt Ahn,
you don't need to remind us of that. What exactly
is this suggestion of yours, then?

Simply, said Laa Ehon, I propose we depart
from standard procedure and set up specific beasts
as governors in our respective districts, holding

282 Far Frontiers

them responsible for the production of the cattle
in their districts; and allowing them to use other
cattle as subsidiary officers to set up their own
structures of authority to guarantee such produc-
tion.

Absolutely against standard procedure,
the thick-chested officer, promptly.

Indeed, said Maa Alyn, leaning her body
slightly forward to stare down the tabletop di-
rectly at Laa Ehon, those who've gone before us
have found by hard experience that the best way
to handle native cattle is to give them all possible

freedoms of custom and society according to what
they have been used to, but never to allow individ-
uals among them power as intermediaries between
ourselves and the rest of the beasts. Whenever
we ve set up intermediaries of their own race like
that, between us and them, corruption on the part
of their officials has almost invariably occurred.
Moreover, resentment is born among the general
mass of the cattle; and this, in the end, costs us
more than the original gains achieved by using
intermediaries.

IT seem to remember something just said, how-
ever, answered Laa Ehon, about each world and
each race upon it being a different and unique
problem. The recalcitrance shown by the local cat-
tle as a whole on this particular world of ours, as
shown by the statistics, are of an order above those
shown on any previous world we have taken over.
Its true theres been no show of overt antagonism
on the part of the general mass of cattleyet, at
least. But on the other hand, it would be hard to
show any except our directly used beasts, such as
those in the Interior Guard, or this translator-
courier corps of the First Captain, who can be said

,

said

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 283

sincerely to have made a full and proper adapta-
tion to us, as their owners and rulers.

That doesnt mean your proposal is the correct
solution to the problem, put in a male Aalaag
who had not spoken before. He sat little more than
a meter from Shane's right hand, at the extreme
far end of the table from Lyt Ahn.

Of course, answered Laa Ehon. I recognize
the danger of making any large changeslet alone
ones that go against established procedurewithout
having adequate data first. Therefore, what Im
actually suggesting is that certain measures be put
into effect on a trial basis.

He tapped the tabletop before him and screens
alit with data in the Aalaag script appeared in it
before each alien there.

T've had surveys made, he went on, and you
see the results of them on the screens before you.
Ive also had hard copies delivered to your offices
by available underofficers of mine. You'll note my
survey turned up three districts best suited to the
putting into effect of temporary test procedures to
see if my estimations are correct. Two were island
areas; one being what the cattle formerly called
the Japanese Islands, the other called the British
Islands. There are advantages of homogeneity and
diversity in each case. Of these two, the British
Islands seems the better prospect

These islands, of course, are within my district,
said Maa Alyn, stiffly. But you also mentioned, I
think, threenot twoareas as being possibly suit-
able as testing areas?

I did, said Laa Ehon. However, the third
area, according to my surveys, would be this one
surrounding the House of Weapons; and I didn't
think wed want to make any experiments that
close to our prime seat of authority, even if the

284 Far Frontiers

First Captain would give permission ... as, of
course, I would expect to wait upon your permis-
sion, Maa Alyn, before proposing to experiment in
the area of the British Isles.

There was a murmur around the table that
seemed to Shane to express diverse opinions.

So, went on Laa Ehon, ignoring the sound,
what I would like to suggest, with the concur-
rence of this Council and everyone concerned, is to
set up a temporary governing structure such as I
described earlier; monitored directly by us, with
an officer of the true race supervising and working
in parallel with each individual beast who is in a
position of intermediate authority as governor.

There was a moments silence.

see a great many difficulties ... began Maa
Alyn.

Frankly, I do myself, said Laa Ehon. This is
unknown territory to all of us. For one thing, as
has been pointed out, any tendencies for the beast-
governor and his staff to take advantage of their
positions over their fellow cattle would be difficult
for us to see and check promptly. This, howeverit
has recently occurred to me and this was why I
asked our First Captain to send for the beast who
stands before us nowcould be greatly helped by
requiring all beast-governor staff to have contact
with their supervisory numbers of the true race in
the real language.

But such a condition would need that the beast-
governor, to say nothing of his staff, be not merely
adequate, but fluent, in the true language the
thick-chested Aalaag broke off suddenly. Are you
proposing that the First Captain lend his corps of
translators to this task? If so, that immaculate sir
would of course have to volunteer them for the

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 285

duty. There is no way in honor this Council could
suggest

Not at allnot at all, said Laa Ehon. I was
merely about to suggest that the beasts chosen to
be governor and staff be put first through an inten-
sive course of teaching, to make them fluent in the
true language, using as teachersif the First Cap-
tain agreessome of his translators such as the
beast before usand, of course, provided that my
overall suggestion meets with the approval of the
Council. The intent would be to produce cattle
who'd be able to explain themselves clearly to
their own kind while still being clear and under-
standable in their reports to ourselves, thereby
making for a strong, plain link of understanding
between us and the mass of cattle in general.

T have already said, put in Lyt Ahn, that it is
only the rare beast that can be taught to speak
with such adequate clearness. The evidence for
this is in the efforts I mentioned, to which I was
put in staffing this particular corps of beast-
translators and couriers, to which you refer and of
which the beast now present is an example.

It seems to me we lose nothing by trying, said
Laa Ehon.

We stand to lose something by trying, said
Lyt Ahn, if what we are trying is foredoomed to a
failure that may make us look ridiculous in the
eyes of our beasts.

Of course, said Laa Ehon, but at the same
time I find it hard to believe that what this hand-
ful you use as translators can do, others of their
kind can't also be brought to do. The idea flies in
the face of logic and reason. What is hypothesized
to be missing from those who, according to your
experience, are incapable of being taught to use
the true language clearly?

J

286 Far Frontiers

Exactly what the blocking factor is, we ve never
been able to discover, answered Lyt Ahn. Would
you care to question the beast we have present?

Ask a beast? said Laa Ehon; and experience
made Shane perceptive enough to catch the evi-
dence of shock and surprise, not only in Laa Ehon,
but in the others about the table.

As you have said, replied Lyt Ahn, it'll do no
harm to explore any and all possibilities; and this
beast might, indeed, be able to provide you with
some information or insight.

The suggestion is a Laa Ehon hesitated, ob-
viously searching for a way of putting what he
wanted to say in words that would not fall into the
category of insult to his First Captain, but would
still express his reaction to such a suggestion,
far-fetched idea.

What have you to lose? said Lyt Ahn; and a
murmur of agreement ran around the table. Laa
Ehons expression showed no change, but Shane
guessed that the Milanese Commander was seeth-
ing with anger, within. He turned and his eyes met
Shane's.

Beast, he said, can you offer any information
as to why a majority of your species cannot be
taught to speak the true language as well as you,
yourself, have come to?

Immaculate sirs and dames Shane's voice
sounded high-pitched and strange in his own ears
after the deep tones of those around the table, it
is a characteristic of our species that during our
first few years of life at a time when our pups are
learning how to speak, that their capability for so
learning is very great. In the years just before the
untarnished race came among us, it had been es-
tablished that our young could learn as many as
four or five different variants of our tongue, simul-

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 287

taneously; but that this facility was lost for most
beasts by the time these young were five to eight
years of age. Only a fortunate few of us keep that
ability; and its been from such fortunate few that
the First Captain s corps of translator-couriers has
been drawn.

There was a moment of silencea long moment.

T don't think Im completely ready to believe

this without independent substantiation, said Laa
Ehon. Its well known that, unlike ourselves, these
subject races use the lie quite commonly. Moreover,
even when they do not consciously lie, they can be
ignorant or subject to superstitions. The point this
beast has just made, that the language learning
ability of his race is largely lost after the first five
to eight years of their life may be a lie, the result
of ignorance, or simply belief in a superstition that
has no real basis in fact.
T, said Lyt Ahn from the far end of the table,
heavily, am inclined to believe this Shane-beast
such being its name. Ive had much contact with it
over the last two years and always found it truthful,
as well as remarkably lacking in ignorance for one
of its species, and not superstitious ...even in the
meaning of that term as understood by our own
race.

Tf what the beast says is true, however, put in
Maa Alyn, there'd be no point in trying your
experiment, Laa Ehon.

Laa Ehon turned toward her.

When were the plans of the untarnished race
ever made or changed upon the basis of input
from one of the subject species? he said. I mean
no disrespect to the First Captain; but the fact
remains the beast here may be mistaken, or may

not know what we or it are talking about. We

288 Far Frontiers

should hardly make any decision here on an unsup-
ported faith in its possible correctness.

True enough, murmured another female, who
had not spoken before. True enough.

Whats been said here does suggest one thing,
however, said Laa Ehon, and thats that we
should begin immediately, on the chance that the
beast is correct, to put some of the young beasts to
exposure to the true language. Then, if this one is
correct, we may breed up a generation which takes
advantage of this early language ability of theirs,
if such actually exists. Certainly, nothing can be
lost by trying.

A mutter of agreement sounded around the table,
interrupted once more by the heavy voice of Lyt
Ahn.

Am I correct then? the First Captain said, look-
ing around the table. At least a number of you
are agreeable to taking young beasts into your
households and keeping them more or less continu-
ously with you?

There was a silence.

A nurse-beast, of course, said Laa Ehon, could
be detailed to take care of each young creature.
The young one would no more be in the way, then,
under such circumstances, than the adult beasts
are when we use them for various duties. The only
requirement would be that the nurse-beast keep
the infant creature in position to overhear as much
of our speech as possible.

T think Laa Ehon may have the answer, Maa
Alyn said. I cant see any flaws in his reasoning.

Nor can Ibut I am a member of the true
race, said Lyt Ahn. However, perhaps it would be
wise for the untarnished and immaculate individu-
als here assembled to check first with the represen-
tative of the beasts we have with us at the moment

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 289

in case there might be some unseen flaw in this
course? Its always possible that there are pitfalls
in it perceptible to one of the species, but which
none of us have observed.

Once more, Shane found the eyes of all the Aalaag
there turned upon him.

Beast, said Maa Alyn, we have been discuss-
ing the possibilities of raising some of your young
with early exposure to true language, assuming
this theory of yours for early aptitude for the learn-
ing of it is a fact

You need not recap, Maa Alyn, interrupted
Lyt Ahn. I can assure you that this Shane-beast
has overheard and understood all we've been
saying.

There was a strange, almost startled silence
around the table. Almost as if it had been sug-
gested that there was a spy in their midst. Shane
realized that, with the exception of Lyt Ahn, all
those there had until that moment not really made
the connection between his knowledge of their lan-
guage and the fact he would be able not only to
follow but to understand all that they had been
saying to each other. Comprehension of that fact
clashed violently with their habit of ignoring the
underraces.

Well then, Shane-beast, since the First Captain
assures us thats your name, said Laa Ehon after
a second. Have you any comment on our plan to
raise some young of your species when they can
overhear the true language being spoken, during
their receptive years of growth?

Only, answered Shane, if the immaculate sir
pleases, that I believe if you follow the plan as you
have outlined it, the result will be that these young
of my species will understand Aalaag, but not nec-
essarily be able to speak it.

290 Far Frontiers

He hesitated. He had been given no order to
volunteer information. To do so would be greatly
daring. But that lack was almost immediately
remedied.

Go on, Shane-beast, said Lyt Ahn from the
head of the table. If you have any suggestions to
make, make them.

Yes, make them, said Laa Ehon, his black eyes
glittering on Shane. The most immaculate First
Captain seems to feel there may be a flaw in our
reasoning which you might have discerned.

T might merely suggest, said Shane, picking
his way as carefully through the alien vocabulary
as through a mine field, in search of words which
would at once be absolutely truthful but at the

same time carry his meaning without implying
any pretence to equality, or possible offense, a
danger could lie in the fact that you have the
young of my species merely listening to the true
language as its correctly spoken. As I say, there
might be a danger that the young referred to might
only learn to understand, but not to speak, the
true language; since they are given no opportunity
to speak it.

He hesitated. There was a dangerous silence
around the table.

What I am trying to say, he said, is that
perhaps the untarnished or immaculate individu-
als dealing with these young beasts should con-
sider speaking to and allowing themselves to be
answered by these young ones in the true tongue.
It would have to be understood that, being so
young still, the small beasts would not yet have
acquired a knowledge of polite response; and might
inadvertently fail to show the proper respect... .

The shock around the table this time was a pal-

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 291

pable thing; and the pause was longer than at any
time since Shane had entered the room.

You are suggesting, said Maa Alyn, almost
that we treat these young of your species as if they
were young of the true race.

TI am afraid that is my meaning, immaculate
dame, said Shane.

There was a further silence, broken at last by
Maa Alyn.

The suggestiong is disgusting, she said. More-
over, even more than any other suggestion put
forward here today, this flies in the face of all the
rules evolved from the experience of the true race
with their underspecies over many worlds and
many centuries. There must be some other way. .

There was a general noise of concurrence from
those gathered around the table. For a moment,
Shane was sure that while Laa Ehon had lost his
point about introducing humans into Aalaag inner
households, he had come dangerously close to gath-
ering the leadership of the Council to him. He saw
that all eyes had now turned sharply to Lyt Ahn,
as if awaiting some magical alternate solution from
him. Then the First Captain spoke; and with the
first words, Shane realized his master had seized
the most propitious moment for forestalling Laa
Ehons bid for power and regaining his own posi-
tion of Alpha Leader in the Council. To the clear
surprise of those around the table, he not only
overrode Maa Alyn by endorsing the Milanese
Commander's suggestion; but went beyond it, in
part assuming authorship and control of the plan.

T fully realize the distastefulness of the sug-
gestion. Nonetheless, said Lyt Ahn, Im going to
ask all those around this table to take this matter
of bringing human young into their households
into consideration, and think about it seriously

292 Far Frontiers

between now and our next meeting. It is true that
we're at variance with the prognosis and the esti-
mates originally made for our settling of this par-
ticular world; and recently there has been an
outbreak of what can only be regarded as an atti-
tude inimical to the true race in these drawings
that appear in the cities from time to timeand, I
believe, more frequently lately.

Clearly they are of a human wearing what they
call pilgrim clothing, said Maa Alyn. Has the
First Captain considered ordering that no such
clothing be worn in the future?

Its hard to see what that would accomplish at
this date, untarnished dame, answered Lyt Ahn.
The symbol has already been established. In fact,

we would be dignifying it by paying that much
attention to it. The beasts might consider that we
actually saw the drawing as a threatwhich is
what those who put them up undoubtedly want.

True enough, Maa Alyn nodded.

On the other hand, something undoubtedly must
be done; and the untarnished sir who is our Com-
mander in Milan has at least come up with a
proposal, which is more than anyone else has done.
I suggest in addition to considering the taking of
beast children into our households, we put Laa
Ehons other suggestion to trial. I therefore autho-
rize himhopefully, Maa Alyn will not objectto
set up a trial beast as governor in the British Isles
area, with whatever staff is necessary; and I will
temporarily lend the project one of my translators
to ensure communication between governor and
the true race to commence with.

T do not object. It was very nearly a growl
from Maa Alyn.

Tf I might have this Shane beast as translator,

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 293

aD

then Laa Ehon was beginning, and Shane
chilled. But Lyt Ahn interrupted the other.

Shane-beast, I have special uses of my own
for, said the First Captain. T will, however, pro-
vide you with a beast adequate to your needs. I
will permit this muchthat Shane-beast be avail-
able to you as liaison on this project to keep me
informed of its progress and such special advice as
you wish to pass on to me by courier.

Tf you wish, and as you wish, of course, First
Captain, said Laa Ehon, smoothly; but his eyes
flashed for a moment on Shane with something of
cold calculation in them. Shane chilled again.

That being settled, said Lyt Ahn, shall we
close this meeting?

There were sounds of agreement in which the
Milanese Commander joined. A moment later,
Shane found himself outside the room, in the
corridor, hurrying to match Lyt Ahns long-legged
strides back toward the First Captain's private
offices. Shane had been given no orders to follow.
On the other hand he had not been dismissed, so
he hurried along, half a pace behind his master,
waiting for orders.

These were not forthcoming even after they had
reached and passed into the office. Perhaps they
would have been, but when they stepped inside
the heavy doors, they found Adtha Or Ain. She was
standing once more before the large screen, which
was again showing the figure of their son in what-
ever it was that encased him. She turned as they
entered; and spoke to Lyt Ahn.

Tt went wellthe meeting?

The First Captain looked at her soberly.

Not well, he said, I have broken slightly with
custom to allow Laa Ehon to make a trial of inter-
posing native governors between ourselves and the

294 Far Frontiers

cattle, using the British Isles as an experimental
area.

He turned to Shane.

T will lend him a translator to help. Shane-
beast here, however, will act as my liaison with
the project, and as my own private eyes and ears
upon its progress.

His eyes were steady on Shane.

You understand, Shane-beast? he said. You
will observe everything carefully, and I will ques-

tion you equally carefully each time you return
from there.

So, it did not go well, repeated Adtha Or Ain,
as much to herself as to the First Captain.

No, how could you expect it to? said Lyt Ahn.
He seemed to become suddenly conscious of the
image in the large screen. Put that away.

T need to look at it, responded Adtha Or Ain.

You mean you need it to use as a club against
me, said Lyt Ahn. He made no visible gesture
that Shane could see, except a small jerk of the
head; but the image disappeared from the screen,
leaving it pearly gray and blank.

It doesnt matter if you take it from me, said
Adtha Or Ain. TI can see it just as well with the

screen off. I see it night and day. Now, more than
ever.

Why, now more than ever?

Because I can't avoid seeing what's coming.

Adtha Or Ain turned from the empty screen to
face Lyt Ahn.

What do you mean? There was a note of de-
mand in Lyt Ahns voice.

No expedition will go to look for my son.

Why do you say that? Ive promised you be-
gan Lyt Ahn.

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 295

Your promise is only as good as your authority, 
said Adtha Or Ain, and your authority. ..

She did not finish.

I was elected by the senior officers of this
Expedition. I hold my rank by that authority, which
remains with me, answered Lyt Ahn, in a steady
voice, and the rank can only be taken from me by
popular vote of these same officerswhich will
never happen.

No, said Adtha Or Ain. But you could resign
it on your own decision, as other First Captains on
other New World Expeditions have occasionally
done before you.

T have no intention of resigning.

What does that matter? You will resign, said
Adtha Or Ain. Its as much a certainty as that
screen on the wall before usthe screen you do
not want me to use; and once you are no longer
First Captain, whoever holds that rank will have
no interest in sending an expedition to find out
what happened to my son.

You talk in impossibilities, said Lyt Ahn. Even
if I could spare the officers and material for such
an expedition now, who would lead it?

I would, of course, said Adtha Or Ain. Im of
fourth rankor had you forgotten that?

T cant spare you, retorted Lyt Ahn. The Con-
sort of the First Captain belongs with the First
Captain.

Particularly, when the position of that First Cap-
tain may become questionable, said Adtha Or
Ain.

There is no may. My position is not question-
able; and it is not going to become questionable.

The attitude of Adtha Or Ain changed subtly,
although the signs of that change were so slight
that only Shanes long experience with her allowed

296 Far Frontiers

him to note them. But some of the tension went
out of her. She seemed to soften and went to Lyt
Ahn, close enough to touch him, standing to one
side of him and looking very slightly down into his
eyes.

In all things Iam your Consort, she said, in a
lower voice. Also, in all things I am the mother of
the son you had. I must see clearly, even if you
refuse to. Laa Ehon intends to replace you as First
Captain. Let that, at least, be out in the open
between us.

T have no intention, said Lyt Ahn, of abandon-
ing the First Captaincy to Laa Ehon, or anyone
else.

Consider the situation honestly, said Adtha Or
Ain. The possibility is there. The possibility means
that no expedition would ever be sent to find my
son; and not only that, it means I would lose you
as well, since I think you would not merely accept
duties under anothers command.

That much is true, said Lyt Ahn. If it was
shown to me that I was no longer worthy of the
post of First Captain, I would consider myself ex-
cess of our effort here and make sure that the Ex-
pedition was no longer burdened by my presence.

Shane felt a new sense of shock. This was the
first intimation he had had that some sort of hon-
orable suicide was practiced among the Aalaag.
But the fact that there was such a practice made
sense. It made very good sense for this race of
male and female warriors. He thought of Laa Ehon
in the post of First Captain of Earth and, if anything,
his inner fears increased.

His own life was just barely endurable now un-
der Lyt Ahn. It could become literally unbearable
under Laa Ehon; and if it became literally unbear-
able, sooner rather than later a fit of yowaragh

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 297

would take him again and he would do something
that would lead to his own end. The best he could
hope for under those circumstances would be that
it would lead him to a quick and relatively pain-
less end.

You may go, Shane-beast, said Lyt Ahn.

Shane went. The next two days were a blur of
duties in attendance on Lyt Ahn, during one of the
periodic twice-yearly internal inspections of all ser-
vices housed within the House of Weapons. On the
third day, however, he was summoned back to Lyt
Ahn's office, where an assistant Aalaag officer
handed him a hard copy message to be hand-
delivered to Laa Ehon. Laa Ehon, he was told by
Lyt Ahn, had already set himself up in London
with the staff of the Project he had described to
the Council.

,. 1 deduce from this, small Shane-beast, said
Lyt Ahn, once the underofficer had left and they
two were alone in the office together, that the
immaculate Commander of Milan had already
picked and trained the individuals he would need
for his Project before mentioning his plan to the
Council. You will find his offices already in place
and staffed. I would desire you to take particular
notice of what kind of humans he uses. You will be
in a better position to judge this than myself or
any of the true race. Also, report to me anything
else you think I might find of interest. I'll want to
know, of course, about the general arrangement. I
have the plans on record, of course, but thats not
the same thing as receiving a direct observation
report from a trustworthy pair of eyes.

T will do as the First Captain orders, said
Shane.

You may go.

T thank the immaculate sir.

298 Far Frontiers

Two hours later, once more in a courier ship and
headed toward London, Shane watched from the
window beside his seat as the vessel lifted until
the worlds horizon was a perceptible curve and
the sky overhead was black with the airlessness of
space. Curiously, now that he was on his way, for
the first time he had a moment in which to think,
and to his surprise, he found himself strangely
clearheaded.

It was remarkableremarkable almost to the
point of being funny. After the episode in Milan,
when he had first seen and saved Maria, then later
when he had been kidnapped, he had yearned for
the sanctuary of his small cubicle in the House Of
Weapons, as a retreat where he could sit down and
take stock of what had happened, and was hap-
pening, to him. Then that imagined oasis of peace
had ceased to be an oasis, when he found Sylvia
Onjin waiting there for him.

In the end, in the House Of Weapons, he had
found no timeno moment of personal freedom at
all in which to try and think of some way of avoid-
ing what seemed to be a greased slide to inevitable
self-destruction. Now, here, in the last place he
would have looked for it, he had found it. He was
on duty. Therefore the eyes of the Aalaag were
momentarily off him, and he was free at last to
stand back and consider his position, to think his
own thoughts for a small while before they touched
down in the British Isles.

It was freedom-on-duty. There was no human
word for it, but there was an Aalaag one, alleinen.
It meant the supreme authority and freedom of
being under ordersone s own master or mistress
within strictly specified limits.

He pronounced it now, silently in his mind
alleinenand smiled slightly to himself. For of

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 299

course he did not pronounce it correctly, in the
strict sense. The truth was he did not speak Aalaag
as well as even his masters gave him credit for
doing. Certain sounds were physical impossibili-
ties to his human throat and tongue.

The truth, in fact, was that he cheated in all his
Aalaag-speaking. The alien word that had just come
to his mind should properly be pronounced with
something like a deep bass cough in the middle
syllable; and that deep bass cough, which was so
much a part of many Aalaag words, was simply
beyond his capabilities. He had always got away
with pronouncing it without the cough, however,
because he was able to hide behind the fact that
his vaice was too high-pitched to manage the sound.
He had learned to pronounce words containing
such a sound as the equally high voice of an very
young Aalaag child would say them; and while the
ears of such as Lyt Ahn and even of Laa Ehon and
others consciously noted the lack, they uncon-
sciously excused him for not making it, because of
the otherwise excellence of his pronunciation and
because the word as heard resembled what they
had heard so many times from the high voices of
their own children.

So, in just such a manner, had humans always
excused (and with familiarity, become deaf to) the
accents of their own children and foreign-born
friends. The Aalaag, he thought now, were indeed
humanoid (or humans were Aalaagoid?). Similar
physical environments on similar worlds during
the emergence of both races had shaped them, not
only physically, but psychologically and emotion-
ally, in similar ways. Yet they were not really like
humans in the fine pointsany more than, for
example, the average human was eight feet tall. In
the fine points, they differed. They had to differ.

300 Far Frontiers

One race could not catch the other races diseases,
for example.

There had been a time when he had dreamed of
a plague on Earth that would decimate the aliens
but leave the humans untoucheda sudden plague
that would wipe out the conquerors before those
conquerors had time to pass, to their own kind on
other worlds, the word that they were dying. Of
course, such a plague had never come; and proba-
bly, long ago, the Aalaag had devised medical pro-
tections against any such happening. He pulled his
mind away from such wool-gathering. The impor-
tant problem was a solution to his own situation.
In the silence of the hurtling courier ship, caught
between the green of Earth below and the black of

space above, he forced himself to face that ques-
tion squarely, now, while there was a chance.

Leaving Milan, several days earlier, headed back
to the House Of Weapons, he had faced the fact
that yowaragh had twice driven him to do fool-
ishly desperate things against the Aalaag regime;
and that therefore, it was only a matter of time
until he would be drawn backfor powerful emo-
tional reasons with which the last words of Maria
had been connectedinto contact with this hu-
man Resistance, this Resistance that he knew, if
those in it did not, was doomed to certain discov-
ery and destruction at Aalaag hands.

He had faced the fact then that, given sufficient
provocation, he would not be able to help himself;
as he had not been able to help himself the year
before, when an uncontrollable burst of rage had
driven him to draw the first pilgrim-symbol on the
wall under the executed man in Aalborg, Denmark
as he had not been able to stop himself from acting,
a week since, when he had seen through the one-

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 301

way glass the captive woman who was Maria await-
ing questioning by the Aalaag.

Human cattle, according to the way the Aalaag
thought, were not supposed to have such reactions
as yowaragh. It was not their deliberate fault, only
a weakness in them. But those who showed it were
obviously untrustworthy and sick, and must be
disposed of.

Even when they were as valuable as Shane-beast.

Therefore, leaving Milan, he had finally faced
the fact that what had happened twice must hap-
pen again. Eventually, a third attack of yowaragh
would catch him in a visible situation where ei-
ther he had no choice but to appear openly as one
of the Resistance people and share their fate, or
else he would simply make some wild, personal
attack upon one of the aliens which would result
in his death. He did not want either of those fates.
But there had seemed no way of avoiding one or
the other; and it was this dilemma he had carried
back with him to the House of Weapons, with a
desperate desire to study the situation for some
kind of solution.

But now, out of nowhere, events pushed by Laa
Ehons ambition seemed to have offered him a
possible way out. The basic situation had not
changed; but just now, sitting here in his first
moment of alleinen peace, for the first time,
unexpectedly, he saw the glimmer of a hope he
might have something with which he could bar-
gain for his own life and possibly that of Maria as
well. It was a wild hope, a crazy hope, but it was
nonetheless a hope where before there had been
none.

As he considered it, the small glimmer suddenly
expanded into a glare like that from a doorway
suddenly opened to outer sunlight. It would be a

302 Far Frontiers

matter of setting two dragons to destroy each other,
of using one evil to eat the other uplike the
Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat of the childrens
poem.

The operative factor behind it all was the fact
that even after three years together the two races
did not understand each other. Humans did not
understand Aalaag and the Aalaag did not under-
stand humans.

Basically, the solution to his problem was no
less than the fact that he should destroy Laa Ehon.
It was a far-fetched thought, like that of a mouse
deciding to destroy a giant. On the face of it the
notion seemed ridiculous; but he had one advan-
tage which even Lyt Ahnwho was even larger as
a giant than Laa Ehondid not have. He, Shane,
was not restricted by the Aalaag mores. In fact, he
was restricted by no mores at all, alien or human;
but only by his own need to survive and, if possible,
save Maria.

The operative factor was that the two races did
not really understand each other. He repeated that
to himself. Humans did not understand the Aalaag,
with whom they had never had any real chance to
have contact on what might be called a person-to-
person basis; and the Aalaag could not understand
humans, walled in as they were by the armor of
their own alien attitudes and traditions.

It was because of this that what had been planned
at the Council table would not work. The theory of
bringing up the children in the Aalaag households
would never turn out as Laa Ehon and the others
hoped. Shane thought of the human babies to be
used this way and shudderedout of his knowl-
edge of the difference in human and alien responses.

The bitter part of it would be that the scheme
would actually seem to work at first as the human

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 303

youngsters began to pick up the Aalaag tongue
and get responses that would seem at least friendly,
if not loving, from these large creatures looming
over them. The children would respond automati-
cally with affection, which would last up until
that devastating moment when they were reminded
clearly by the large figures that they were only
humansonly beasts. In that discovery, as the chil-
dren matured and began to have minds of their
own, was more fertile ground for yowaragh than in
anything else the aliens had done on Earth since
their arrival; and it would be yowaragh by humans
who knew their overlords, and the weaknesses of
those overlords, better than these had ever been
known before by any of the underraces.

For the same reason of racial misunderstanding,
Laa Ehons plan to set up human governors would
not work. The Aalaag who lived under unques-
tioned authority among themselves could not re-
ally appreciate that a human governor would be
no more palatable to most other humans than an
alien wouldperhaps even less so. The governor
would simply be included in the detestation in
which the mass of humanity already held all ser-
vants of the Aalaag, such as the Interior Guards
and the translators like Shane, himself. Non-
cooperation would be the order of the day, automati-
cally. Unless...

It was in exactly this area that his own scheme
might work. He owed nothing to the Resistance
groups, he told himself, once more. They had no
hope of successno hope at all, though it would
be impossible to tell them that. Inevitably they
would be caught, found out and executed by the
Aalaag. He shuddered again, thinking of what would
happen to them. But he reminded himself that
that happening was unavoidable, no matter what

304 Far Frontiers

he might do or not do. Meanwhile, they could be
the instrument which would save him; and, possi-
bly even more important, aid him in destroying
Laa Ehon at one and the same time.

He looked more closely at the plan that had just
been born in him.

It would be risky. He would have to appear to
lend his aid to the Resistance groups; and without
letting Lyt Ahn know. For Lyt Ahn would never
countenance what Shane was planning, although
he might well concur with what Shane had done
once Laa Ehon had been destroyed as a result of
the translator's efforts.

It would be necessary for Shane to keep his
identity as secret as possible from the Resistance
people themselves. Those few who had captured
him in Milan already had some idea of who he was
but if it could be done, they should remain the
only ones. That would be difficult because he would
have to do more than just join them; he would
have to effectively take charge of their movement.

This was possible, since he knew more about
their enemy than they did themselves. His scheme
itself was simple in the extreme. It would merely
be a matter of coordinating the Resistance groups
and there must be some in at least every large
city and they must know each other, already, even
if they were not already part of one overall organiza-
tion. With their help he could cause an apparent
cooperation to take place with the governorship
organizations Laa Ehon had in mind; so that these
seemed to be an unqualified success. While, at the
same time, the organization of the Resistances into
a single coordinating unit could make possible a
plan for a world-wide uprising against the aliens
everywhere. That would attract the revolutionaries.

Only he would know that such a revolt would

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 305

stand no chance of success. In fact, it would al-
most certainly never reach the point of taking place.
Long before it was ready to explode, he would
have pulled the plug of the cooperation that had
been given the governors; and Laa Ehons planin
which by this time the Aalaag would have in-
vested deeplywould reveal itself as a total failure.
For which Laa Ehon could only take the blame.

And, if some sort of honorable suicide was in-
deed part of the Aalaag tradition, Laa Ehon might
thereupon remove himself. Even if he did not, his
power within the Council and his presence as a
threat to succeed Lyt Ahn would be destroyed.

Meanwhile, of course, the Resistance members,
who by this time would have exposed themselves,
or become easily identifiable, would be rounded
up and disposed of by the aliens. Shane set his
teeth against the mental picture of what that would
mean, reminding himself fiercely that he had a
right to think of his own survival first; and again,
that there had never been any hope for them in
any case.

It was a cruel and bitter plan. It had no justifica-
tion beyond the fact that its fall-out would save
himand possibly Maria as well. He might be
able to rescue her in the process. Just at the mo-
ment he was not sure how he might do that; but
the beginnings of some ideas were tickling at the
back of his mind, all of them dependent upon the
claim he would have on Lyt Ahns good graces
after Laa Ehon was taken care of.

One necessary matter would be to get the Resis-
tances agreement to Maria's helping him person-
ally. Later on, therefore, to Lyt Ahn, he could credit
part of his success to her association with him,
which he would make appear to be a willing and
informed one.

306 Far Frontiers

The strange thing, he found himself thinking,
was that he should be contemplating doing what
he had earlier been deathly afraid of doing
associating with those who were subversive to the
aliens. The equation of life and death for him in
any association like that had not changed; and yet
he found himself now feeling good, almost buoyant,
about the plans he had just considered. He felt in
fact more alive than he had felt since word had
first come of the Aalaag landings on Earth.

A sense of something almost like triumph pos-
sessed him. So engrossed was he in his thoughts
that he hardly noticed when the courier ship set
down at last with a slight jolt in the main termi-
nal area which had been blasted out of the center
of London. As a member of Lyt Ahns special corps,
he was allowed a special consideration in choosing
where he might be let off. He preferred that this be
at terminals where he could mingle with the ordi-
nary human traffic and be lost to the sight of
anyone who might otherwise identify him as one
who worked for the aliens.

He took the subway into the city and registered
at a small, middle-class hotel. His destination was
Laa Ehons Project, but they were not expecting
him there at any particular time. He was beneath
contempt and therefore, happily, beneath suspicion;
and meanwhile, there was time for the things he
had to do.

He sought out a shop selling second hand cloth-
ing, and bought himself a two-color robeblue on
its outer side, brown when turned inside out. It
was a common enough purchase, but the gold ob-
longs he threw down in payment were not. He saw
the eyes of the lean but pot-bellied, middle-aged
shopkeeper flash as the man picked them up and
ducked into a back room to make change in the

HOUSE OF WEAPONS 307

ordinary base-metal currency of ordinary human
commerce. Such gold tabs, in which Shane and
the other translators were ordinarily paid, saw
their way into ordinary human monetary channels
only through the hands of those who worked for
the aliens or those who dealt in the black market
that sold special luxuries to those who so worked.
The word of his purchase would reach local Resis-
tance headquarters quickly.

Deliver this robe to room 421, the Sheldon Arms
Hotel, Shane said to the proprietor. Can you do
that for me?

Of course sir, of course,

d

said the proprietor,

making a note on a piece of unbleached wrapping
paper.

Scooping up his change, Shane returned to his
room in the hotel. He ordered up a meal, ate, and
then lay on the bed, thinking and waiting.

It was only a little over two hours before there
was a knock at the door of his room.

Delivery for you, sir, said a voice beyond the
door.

He was on his feet instantly and as silently as he
was able to move. He stepped across to the darkest
corner of the room and stood there with his back
to the window. He pulled up his pilgrims hood
over his head, drawing the sides of the hood in, so
that his face was hidden in deep shadow. He said
nothing.

He had expected at least one more knock at the
door; but there was a sudden splintering crash as
the lock gave and two very large men erupted into
the room. They stared at the empty bed and around
them, for a moment plainly not identifying him as
a human figure in his stillness and the shadow of
the corner. In that moment a third man moved
into the room from behind them. It was the man

308 Far Frontiers

called Peter who spoke Italian with an English
accent and had been in charge of the group that
had kidnapped Shane in Milan.

T thought this was your home ground, Shane
said to him.

At the sound of Shanes voice they saw him.
Before they could move, he went on. I am the
Pilgrim. I'll talk to you, Peter, and you only. Get
the others out.

There was a moment in which it seemed any-
thing might happen. The two large men glanced
back at Peter.

All right, said Peter, after a moment's hesita-
tion. Outside, both of you, and put the door back
in place. But wait right outside it, there.

He looked directly at Shane.

But what you've got to say better be worth-
while, he added.

It is, said Shane. I'm going to help you. I
know the Aalaag and what their weaknesses are. I
can tell you how to fight them. Having said this
much, the rest came easily to his lips. I may even
be able to tell you how to get rid of them, altogether.
But youre the only one who ought to hear what
Ive got to say, or know who I am.

Peter stared at him for a long, blank-faced
moment. Then he turned to the two men, who
were lifting the door back into place in its opening.

On second thought, wait down the hall, he
said. Thats an order.

He turned back and smiled at Shane. It was a
smile of pure relief.

Its good to have you with us, he said. You
don't know how good it is.

EDITORS INTRODUCTION TO:

THE LEADING EDGE

Book Reviews by
Richard E. Geis

Richard Geis, Hugo Winner, is author and pub-
lisher of the fan magazine Science Fiction Review
(PO Box 11408, Portland, Oregon 97211). It was
once called The Alien Critic until a somewhat
obscure Chicago-based magazine called The Critic
claimed they had exclusive right to use the word
critic in magazine titles. While its unlikely they
could have won a lawsuit, its very likely they had
more money than Dick Geis and could have caused
him quite a lot of trouble.

There are times when I think it would be a lot

cheaper if the United States simply subsidized law-
yers directly; it might save no end of mischief.
There is another alternative: the Constitution of
one of the tiny mountain nations of Europe states
that those black-robed ones, whose profession is
to stir hatred among our people, shall be forever
banned from this land on pain of instant hanging.

Richard E. Geis

JOB: A COMEDY OF JUSTICE by Robert A.
Heinlein
Del Rey, $16.95, 1984

Yes, its a good, enjoyable novel, with a hell of a
narrative hook and a series of intrigues and intrigu-

ing questions presented to the reader as the story
progresses.

I liked it. There are a few problems....

But, firstwhat's it all about?

Alex Hergensheimer, a likeable bigot who is a
well-paid fundraiser for a politically powerful
fundamentalist church in an America which is not
in our timeline, is on a many-stops cruise in Poly-
nesia when he bets some fellow cruise ship passen-
gers that he can follow a small group of natives
across a long bed of red hot coals and burning ash.

Incredibly, he accomplished the feat, but faints
at the finish. When he awakens a few minutes
later he discovers himself to be in an alternate
Earth, a slightly different time line, and further

310

THE LEADING EDGE 311

that he now has the identity of Alec Graham, a
man of apparently questionable morals and possi-
ble underworld crime connections.

In addition, and to his discomfiture, a Danish
shipboard maid named Margrethe is in love with
himand everyone accepts him as Graham. Fur-
ther, the cruise ship is now of a different national
registry and has a different name.

The men he bet with in the previous world now
pay him off in this world, for they remember Alec
Graham walking the bed of coals a few hours
previous.

These radical, inexplicable changes have Alex/Alec
mightily puzzled and anguished, especially when
he, a married man (though alone on this trip) finds
himself falling deeply in love with Margrethe. And
when he has an ominous encounter with two thug-
like agents who are after the one million dollars in
cash he had discovered in one of Alec Grahams
suitcases.

Alex/Alec succumbs to his love, and one night at
sea while he and Margrethe are making love the
cruise ship strikes an iceberg (yes, an iceberg in
the South Pacific!) and he and Margrethe are
washed out of the ship, naked, into yet another
alternate Earth.

They survive on a raft, are picked up by a Mexi-
can seaplane (and Alex had never seen an airplane
beforein his original world dirigibles were the air-
travel vehicles and church/religious strictures on
science had prevented the development of heavier-
than-air craft) and taken to nearby Mazatlan.

No sooner do he and Margrethemore deeply in
love than evermanage to cope with this radical
shift in culture and technology and begin to accu-
mulate some money for a journey to his home in
the United States, than another violent Shift occurs.

312 Far Frontiers

These world changes occur in the blink of an
eye, and usually when he and she are asleep.

Doggedly, resolutely, Alex/Alec never wavers in
his faith in God nor in his love for Margrethe,
though he does have some bad moments, espe-
cially when remembering his shrewish wife and
his marriage vows, and also in regard to the terri-
ble injustices and suffering he sees around him as
he and Margrethe pass from one alternate Earth to
another. He cannot help but ask himself what in
hell is going on? What kind of game is being played
with him? What forces are responsible? Is God
testing him as Job was tested? Is Satan the manipu-
lator? Or is his feeling that all these world-shifts
are aimed at him and Margrethe only paranoia
and solipsism?

Believe me, the reader is wondering, too. Heinlein
grips the reader with an iron handaround the
neck. You can't stop reading.

Finally, after how manya dozen?jolting shifts
to different worlds and cultures, Alec (he now has
accepted this identity, since Margrethe insists he
is Alec Graham) concludes that all these disasters
and tests of his faith and character are a prelude
to Judgement Day, and he begins telling friends
that the end of the world is nigh.

And, by God, it is! The Last Trumpet sounds and
the destruction of the world is total.

Incredibly to Alec, he is sorted out after death
and passed on to Heaven ... and he cannot find
Margrethe!

Here we enter into a kind of rigorous science
fantasy, for Heinleins Heaven (and later, Hell) seem
illogical in many ways... bound by difficult logis-
tics and mean-minded angels and assistants cop-
ing with billions of souls suddenly thrust upon
them by an apparently capricious God ... with

THE LEADING EDGE 313

computers on the one hand and slow-moving me-
chanical transport on the other, a class system in
place and restaurants available for enjoyment of
food and sociability if so desired.

To his amazement, Alec is designated a saint
and given special privileges. But he still cannot
find Margrethe, whom he loves beyond life, beyond
sainthood itself. Has she been sent to Hell? Is she
in Limbo?

Desperately, against all advice, he makes the
endless fall into Hell and is surprised to discover
that Hell isnt all that bad! And Satan is sym-
pathetic and helpful in his search for Margrethe.

As a matter of fact, the final, vast cosmology
revealed to Alec by Satan is probably going to jolt
religionists to their cores and make non-believers
smile.

In the sense that the afterlife described by
Heinlein and the landscapes of Heaven and Hell
and the still greater reality beyond are rational
and coherent and consistent, this novel is science
fiction. But its old hat.

God is revealed to be less than nice. Satan, God's
brother, is competent, of good will, good judge-
ment, good intentions, a fair entity. God and Satan
are in competition to run our part of this multi-
leveled universe, and plainly Satan if in control
would do a better job than God has done.

But God and Satan are lesser gods in this re-
vealed greater hierarchy, and it turns out that the
top Creator is rather pissed off at God for mis-
management, capriciousness, and malicious in-
justice.

The novel does have a happy endingat least
for Alec and Margrethe. Nothing is said of the
billions of people killed when God ordered the
Last Trump sounded.

314 Far Frontiers

There is a curious old-fashioned quality to this
novel, a kind of nostalgia permeates it, a strong
feel of Heinlein yearning for a long-gone America.
The world of his youth, perhaps, of old-fashioned
virtues rewarded.

I did not like the pure, ever-present, gooey-sweet
love that exists between Alec and Margrethe, the
always-rational conversation. When they disagree
they disagree calmly, logically, maturely.

Other characters exhibit emotional problems,
tantrums, flaws. Never Alec. Never Margrethe.
Heinleins heroes and heroinesin his past few
novels, at leastare always sweetly reasonable and
superior.

I resent that. It isnt true to life. Its impossible
characterization.

And then there are the odd inserts of first-person
present-tense narrative which appear in the usual
first-person past-tense storytelling. I wonder if
Heinlein was aware of them?

In any event this latest Robert A. Heinlein
theology-involved novel effectively destroys Chris-
tian religion for anyone who has any niggling
doubts about the fundamentals of his beliefs be-
fore reading JobA Comedy of Justice. Simply us-
ing the old copout, God works in mysterious
ways, will not be an effective counter to what
Heinlein says and shows in this book. Heinlein
displays a thorough knowledge of the Bible, and in
the process of having God test Alecs faith, de-
stroys everyone else's.

Science fiction, as I have said many times before,
is a very subversive literature, dangerous to pre-
conceptions. Read it at your own risk.

THE LEADING EDGE

GREEN EYES by Lucius Shepard
Ace Special, $2.95, 1984

A secret government research project has found
that a special bacteria found in graveyard earth,
when permitted to grow in a newly-dead corpse,
reanimates the corpse to a new life.

It is a short-lived life, however, and there are
complications: the corpses do not awaken with the
same persona or memories from before they died.
They emerge as extraordinarily gifted scientists,
writers ... genuinely new people.

But the swiftly spreading, multiplying bacteria
which gives them life increases in their brains so
quickly that it eventually kills them again for lack
of control or natural bodily enemies.

The formerly dead develop a strange, frighten-
ing green glow in their eyes as the unrestrained
bacterial growth continues, and they are imbued
with madness and a sad, last-minute lust for sex.

There are normal humans in the project who act
as counselors, friends ... who are employed to
develop a close personal relationship with these
brilliant zombies and help them adjust to their
weird new life.

There are also slow-burners zombies who last
far longer than the usual run of reanimated corpses,
and who use their extended time to seek solutions
to their problem, to seek longer, stabilized life for
themselves by limiting the extraordinary bacteria
which rages in their brains.

This fine novel is primarily about one such slow-
burning zombie, Donnell Harrison, who had been
an alcoholic drifter in his former life, and who
now is a poet, a faith healer, a seeker for answers
in a fantastic other world in another dimension,

316 Far Frontiers

alternate Earth, in his altered brain ... he isnt
sure.

He and his personal therapist, a girl named
Jocunda Verret, develop a kind of love, and with
the help of other brilliant scientist zombies he and
she and one other zombie escape the isolated gov-
ernment project. They evade capture while they
make their way into Louisiana Cajun country to a
shanty in the swamps where they live and where
Harrison discovers he can cure diseases in normal
humans. He has subtle psi powers. His spreading
fame attracts an immensely powerful, wealthy,
genetically-haunted woman whose old, warped
mansion is filled with her twisted retinue and
strange hangers-on.

This woman can provide Harrison with the three
tons of cast copper he needs as a focal point (shaped
in a giant replica of a voodoo symbol) for a critical
experiment in the other-world landscape he has
discovered in his altered, psi-powered mind.

The strength and beauty of this novel springs
from its realistic, sensual writing. Detail is layered
like an endless cake, like a series of dots which are
eventually perceived as a picture. Thus Shepard is
able to make real inherently fantastic situations.
His zombies are solid and distinct persons. Shep-
ard forces the reader to accept anything by show-
ing it in utterly believable, colorful, vivid detail.
His phrasing hits like an elegant sledgehammer.

And in Green Eyes the reader is never sure what
the next page will bring. There are surprises, shocks,
revelations ... There are beautifully written des-
criptions, touches of direct and indirect character-
ization, acute dialog which tells more than ex-
pected ... Green Eyes is a novel to experience on
many levels.

THE LEADING EDGE

STAR REBEL by F.M. Busby
Bantam, $2.50, 1984

At thirteen years of age, Bran Tregare is sent by
his embattled family (the Hulzein clan) to the very
brutal Earth empire space academy known as the
Slaughterhouse. It was supposed to be a brief hid-
ing place for him until his elders managed to sur-
vive a life-and-death power struggle with their arch
rival, United Energy and Transport, which con-
trols the government.

Bran Tregare is his assumed name. And the
Slaughterhouse is aptly named, as regular weed-
ing-out no-holds-barred fighting matches are forced
upon selected cadets. Vicious hazing, ambushes,

etc. further diminish the ranks until surviving se-
niors are finally given space training where sadis-
tic ship captains have life-and-death power over
the trainees ... and use it.

Bran is changed, toughened, hardened by these
experiences, and develops into a superior space
pilot and leader. And he is now secretly a rebel,
only waiting for the right moment to join the
whispered-about rebels somewhere in deep space.

That moment comes and Bran and his like-
minded crewmates take over an armed Earth mili-
tary spaceship and become renegades, mutineers.

In the following months Bran and his ship sur-
vive encounters with empire ships and empire-
controlled colonies, and by alliances with other
rebel ships and conquest of empire ships he be-
comes a force in space and conceives a plan to
eventually overthrow the empire.

He has become, through the years, selectively
ruthless, a man with a terrible goal, a man with
enemies he has sworn to kill. He is twenty years

THE LEADING EDGE 318

old now, and as the novel ends he is the empires
most dangerous enemy.

There are sequels to follow, obviously, and they
should be as good or better than this opening novel
in this saga. Busby writes well, and there are many
gripping fighting, near-death, space battle scenes.
Tensions mount to riveting intensity as the book
progresses.

BLANK SLATE by Mark J. McGarry
Signet, $2.95, 1984

This is near-perfect hardcore science fiction from
a young writer who has the tools and style and

talent to be a bestselling sf writer for the rest of
his life.

This is taut, exquisitely detailed, utterly con-
vincing future secret agent intrigue involving an
alien invasion of Earth via instantaneous-travel
portals, multiple identity changes, lost colonies,
mixed loyalties, murder, double-crosses, a nearly
total authoritarian all-Earth government, a cun-
ning secret society, the likelihood of another at-
tempt at taking Earth by the aliens, horrendous
human crimes involving the mass murder of mil-
lions of the poor and under-privileged ...

Mark McGarry writes about the weary, ambigu-
ous life of Kearin Seacord, who is used again and
again by a future security officer as an agent, ac-
tion which requires radical plastic surgery and
identity changes, in a complicated game of manip-
ulation and sleight of hand with other major ele-
ments of this paranoid, computerized government.

Finally rebelling, Seacord unravels the secrets
and motivations which have used him as a pawn

THE LEADING EDGE 319

and is forced to make decisions which affect
mankind's fate.

What most impresses about this novel is the fine
characterization and the detailed realism of this
oppressive future culture and technology. It all
tracks, and the people who inhabit it are convincing,
shaped by this warped Earth of massive, elitist
citadels and outcast masses who live in the ruins
of past, dead cities.

McGarry is a fine writer who is willing to put
enormous skill and time and effort into his charac-
ters and their lives. He has a superb sense of story-
telling, in knowing what to reveal when, and how.

I suspect there will be at least one following
novel using Kearin Seacord and this intriguing, de-
pressing future Earth (and isolated colonies); the
aliens are coming again and he must somehow
find a way to stop them or defeat them, while at
the same time covering his back from inter-govern-
mental power struggles, plots, betrayals.

Im looking forward to those adventures.

The Newest Adventure of

the Galaxys Only
Two-Fisted Diplomat!

AUVIaE

When the belligerent Ree decided
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BOOKS

See next page for order information.

EDITED BY:

Welcome to Volume II of science fictions only paperback
magazine, a premier forum for hard scientific speculation
and stories both entertaining and thought-provoking.
In this volume you'll find humor pathos, and master
Storytelling by
GORDON R. DICKSON BEN BOVA
JOHN BRUNNER EDWARD P. HUGHES

AND MORE!
Plus forecasts for advancement in space travel, aviation,

and. other fields on the cutting edge of our technological
future by experts including

DR. ROBERT BUSSARD
G. HARRY STINE

With Editorial Introductions by JERRY POURNELLE

76774 ''90295 |
INBN O-671L-55954-0

