POWER-MAD DR. MORBIUS MUST BESTOPPED BEFORE HE ENSLAVESTHE WORLD!

Commander Adams and the crew of Spaceship C-57-D landon Altair 4, the forbidden planet, where they hope to findthe survivors of a previous expedition. But the only one theyfind is Dr. Morbius, a scientist with a deadly plan to takeover the universe. Dr. Morbius warns the earthlings to leave at once.

But Commander Adams and his crew stay—despite theterrifying attacks on their spaceship. For they know thattheirs is the last chance to stop a madman from becoming Master of the Universe.

FORBIDDENPLANET

W. J. Stuart

PAPERBACK LIBRARY, Inc.New York

PAPERBACK LIBRARY EDITION

First Printing:October, 1967

CopyrightŠ 1956 byLoew's Incorporated Library of Congress catalog card number 56-5755

This Paperback Library Edition is published by arrangement with Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc.

Paperback Library books are published by Paperback Library, Inc. Itstrademark, consisting of the words "Paperback Library" and associateddistinctive design, is registered in the United States Patent Office.Paperback Library, Inc., 260 Park Avenue South, New York, N. Y. 10010.

CONTENTS

             Foreword                                             7

ONE     Major (Medical) C. X. Ostrow             9

TWO    Major (Medical)  C. X. Ostrow          27

             (continued)

THREECommander J. J. Adams                       59

FOUR   Commander J. J. Adams                       78

             (continued)

FIVE    Edward Morbius                                  90

SIX       Major C. X. Ostrow                              103

SEVENCommander J. J. Adams                      129

EIGHT Commander J. J. Adams                       140

             (concluded)

             Postscript                                             158

FOREWORD

Excerpts  from "THIS THIRD  MILLENNIUM—A CondensedTextbook for Students" by A. G. Yakimara, H.B., Soc.D., etc.

(The following are taken from the revised microfilm edition, dated Quatuor 15, 2600 A.D.)

...So that in the year 1995 the first fully manned satelliteSpace Station had been established as a 'jumping off' place for exploration on the Solar system—and by the end of theyear 2100 the exploration (and in certain cases colonization)of the planets in the Solar system had been more than half

completed. . .

*   *   *

...It seemed then that Space conquest must necessarily be limited to the Solar system—and it was not until 2200,a couple of centuries after the full occupation of the Moonand fifty years after the final banding together of Mankindin one single Federation, that the conquest of Outer Spacebecame a possibility instead of a scientist's dream. The pos­sibility was brought about by the revolutionary Parvati Theory,which proved as great a step from the Relativity Laws asthey themselves had been from the age-old gravity superstition.The Parvati Theory completely negated the Einsteinian beliefthat "At or past the speed of light, mass must become infi­nite"—and the way was open for such men as Gundarsen,Holli, and Mussovski to develop and transmute the Theoryinto fact. Their labors resulted, as regards the exploration ofOuter Space, in what is now called the QG (or Quanto-Gravitum) drive. . .

...By the middle of the fourth century in our millennium the first exploratory trips beyond the confines of the Solar System had already been made, and all the time the design, construction and performance of Space craft were being im­proved. . .

*   *   *

.. . The early days of Outer Space penetration were naturallyproductive of many events and deeds which have since attainedalmost legendary quality, perhaps chief of these being theextraordinary story surrounding the two expeditions to Altair, the great mainsequence star of the constellation Alpha Aquilae. The first of these (Aboard the Space ShipBellerophon) was launched, from Earth via the Moon, on the seventh of Sextor,2351. The second (on the United Planets Cruiser C-57-D)was launched twenty years later almost to the minute. . .

In all the annals of Space History as known to man, thereis surely no stranger tale than that of what befell the crew ofthe Cruiser C-57-D when it reached its objective, the planet Altair-4. Like all Cruisers sent on these investigatory missions,it carried a smaller crew than the big Space Ships, only twenty-one in all. Its Commander and Chief Pilot was John Adams. Under him were Lieutenant J.P. Farman, Astrogator; Chief Devisor and Engineer Alonzo Quinn; Major (Medical) C.X.Ostrow—

ONE

Major (Medical) G. X. Ostrow

Well, I'd asked for it hard enough—so it wasn't any goodwishing I hadn't. But all the same, I couldn't help it. Iwished I was anywhere except in this metal box, this hugeoddly shaped shell which felt motionless as a mountain butwas really hurtling across Nothing at more than the speedof light..

More than the speed of light! More than six hundred mil­lion terrestrial miles an hour!

At the beginning of the trip I used to find myself writingdown that figure all the time—a six and then eight neat lit­tle zeros. But it didn't help. Although I knew it was true, mymind couldn't really accept it.

It was different for the other men, of course. They wereused to it, used to the thought of it. Except for one or twoold space-sweats who'd reached the age of thirty, they were all kids to me. Being over forty myself, I hadn't been rearedto the idea of the QG drive. When I was their age speed wasmeasured in thousands of m.p.h. and we never thought our lifetime would see Man breaking out of the Solar system.

More than six hundred million miles an hour! I knew I'd never get my mind to stop reeling at the thought of it. Or atsome of its sequelae either.

Take what they call the 'time-squeeze' for instance. Thekids knew—they automatically accepted—that while time isfixed at each end of one of these preposterous journeys, itis concertina'ed on the journey itself. I didn't know it; mymind kept rebelling against it. Not being a mathematician,I couldn't help regarding it as some sort of infuriating con­juring trick. John Adams had told me (and I'd checkedwith Quinn) that the 'squeeze' on this journey, which wouldbe about a year for us, was in ten to one ratio. I'd smiled atthem politely, and thanked them for the information—butmy mind still boggled at the thought that even if we just reached our destination and went straight back to Earth, I'donly have spent twenty-four months on the round trip butall my friends would be twenty years older.

Except those of them who'd died in the meantime. ..

It didn't matter to me of course. Nothing had mattered much to me since Caroline's death. But at first I used to wonder about these youngsters who made up the crew. Inspite of their youthfulness, most of them were experienceddeep-space men—and I couldn't help worrying about what their lives must be like. Fancy falling in love, for instance, and then leaving on a trip and coming back to find the girlwith grey hair and dentures!

It was this thought, really, that finally put me wise tothem. They were a new breed—adventurers set apart fromthe rest of Mankind as adventurers have always, in a sense, been set apart. But with one great difference: adventurers, old-style, deliberately set themselves apart, secure in theknowledge that the rest of Mankind would wave tear-stained handkerchiefs from docksides and cry, "Come back soon!" But with these boys, nobody (in the personal sense,that is) wanted them to come back, soon or ever. Becausenobody likes to be reminded of how rapidly he is approach­ing the grave—-especially if the reminding's done by an un­canny contemporary who should be as old but somehowisn't...

So there they were—a bunch of youngsters who, on the surface, were just like any you might find in one of theServices, but underneath were hard-bitten way beyond their years and with no emotional ties to anything except eachother and their extra-human work...

By and large I liked most of them at lot. And I thinkmost of them liked me. They certainly took my advice and treatments without any complaint; in fact, before we'd been three or our months on the voyage quite a few of them were coming to me voluntarily, in between checkups.

But I never seemed to get really close to any of them, noteven to any of the officers with whom, after all, I shared allof my off-duty life on the ship except for those hours spentin my own little eight-by-six cage of a cabin.

Whether they felt the same way about me or not, I don'tknow. I'm inclined to think they did—and that the reasonfor having this final barrier between us, like a sheet of in­visible, impalpable plastic, was that I knew and they knewI wasn't really one of their breed... .

II

I'm not likely to forget that three hundred and fifty-sixth breakfast of the flight.

I knew it was the three hundred and fifty-sixth, because I'd counted it off on my homemade calendar while I was shaving. So over my second cup of coffee I remarked on it—with intent.

I said, "The Cook and galley-staff ought to get a medalafter this. Three hundred and fifty-six breakfasts—and I'venever even thought of a complaint."

I made it very casual, because I was looking for informa­tion—and I'd found out early in the trip that one of thestrongest taboos in space travel is the one which bans thevery natural question, When do we get there?

But I wasn't casual enough. Not for Jerry Farman, any­way. He looked at me with his big grin, then winked atAdams.

He said, "Tune him, Skipper! I can hear the pumps."

Adams looked at me. As usual, his expression didn'tgive him away. He said, "You ought to have tried that onLonny Quinn, Doc. He falls easier."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I laughed to show I could take it. "And anyway, Quinn's on watch."

"And I," said Adams getting up from the table, "amabout to relieve him." He started out, but looked back at me over his shoulder as he opened the door. "However,"he said, "let's see what you think about Breakfast Numberthree sixty."

The door closed behind him. There'd been no particularinflection in his voice—and I wasn't sure I'd been told what I wanted to know until I noticed Jerry Farman's expression.He was staring after Adams in astonishment.

"Hell, Doc!" He was looking at me now. "You must rate high. Never thought he'd open up like that."

So I'd been told we only had three more days to go! I didn't waste any time finishing the meal and getting awayto my eight-by-six. I had an hour to spare before sick-bay,and I wanted to be by myself. To think.

I bolted the door, and took off my uniform blouse, and sat on the edge of my bunk. I lit a cigarette and startedthinking, letting the thoughts come any way they hit. The majority of them, the ones about ending the voyage, weregood. The others, about what we'd have to go through be­ fore it ended, were bad. I found myself trying to strike abalance between the intense excitement of looking forwardto landing on an unknown planet, and my terror at having to go through the ordeal of deceleration before we enteredwhat Quinn and the others called the System's FI, or Fieldof Influence.

In their space-crew slang, the period of acceleration wasthe Jig, and the period of deceleration, the Jag. And whenI looked back at what I'd felt like when I went through thefirst, just thinking about the second seemed to turn my bones into water. Especially since, from what I'd picked upfrom the others, theJag was reckoned the tougher of thetwo...

The balance was coming out on the wrong side, and Iwas getting more and more scared every minute. On a sud­den impulse, I got up from the bunk and crossed to theother wall and pressed the switch of the exterior viewer. . .

It was only the second tune in the year's journey that I'ddone it. After the first time, I'd sworn to myself I'd never doit again. Not voluntarily anyway. Because what had hap­pened to me shouldn't happen to a Martian. It wasn't awe­some, like the Jig, but it was bad enough. It was nausea, but with a capital N. It was space-sickness—something most ofthe boys got over early in their careers, but something Ididn't even want to give myself the chance of getting over.

However, now I had a reason to try it again. It mightmake me so glad to be nearly at the end of the trip and outof Space again that the Jag would seem less frightening.

The screen of the viewer blurred, darkened, began to throb with that inner glow it gets as it warms up. . . Theglow faded—and the thing looked like a window, as if thewhole double hull behind it had somehow dissolved.

And outside the window was blackness. Not like anyblackness on Earth—or on any other planet. But a black­ ness with the terrifying solidity of Nothing. . . Even worse, it was Nothing in motion. The impression that the ship was stationary grew stronger, because the Nothingness seemedto be spinning, hurtling past at unbelievable speed. I knowthose words don't make sense if you analyze them—butthat's the only way I can describe what it was like.

My head began to swim, but I leaned forward, grippingthe beveled edges of the screen. I forced myself to keep onstaring out—and the swimming sensation faded...

But only until the lights began. They were outside theblackness, which was now like a tunnel whose walls had suddenly become transparent. They were impossible lights, shapeless and streaked, scrawling aimless and ugly patterns against the black.

And because I knew they were stars and it was our un­thinkable speed, faster than their light rays, which was dis­torting them to my eyes, I was suddenly wrenched into awareness it was the ship—the ship and therefore I myself—that was moving. .. My head and stomach rebelled. Sickand reeling, only just saving myself from vomiting there andthen, I managed to flip off the switch and stagger back tothe bunk...

Although I still felt shaky, I was all right again in a fewminutes. But looking out hadn't done me any good. I wasstill terrified of the Jag—in some illogical way even moreterrified than before..

III

The hours passed—twenty-six of them. I'd just finished my morning stint of work, when the 'Attention All Hands'signal came over the communicator, followed by JohnAdams' voice.

"Now hear this," it said in the ancient formula. "Nowhear this: A General Order to all hands. Shortly, the Arti­ficial Gravity Field will be inoperative. Secure all gear— secure all gear. Section Chiefs report individually whenthrough. That is all."

So here it was, H-hour. Which in a little while would beM-minute!

In fifteen of the minutes I'd cleaned up, watched a coupleof Hands turn on all the clamping switches ha the surgery,and taken myself back to my eight-by-six, hoping I didn'tlook as green as I felt.

The cabin door was open—and going in, I found theBosun there, fixing the magnetic clamp switches. I liked theBosun, and I'd often wished that instead of being a Warrant Officer, he'd been up with me and Adams and Quinn andFarman. Maybe it was because he was a veteran; he musthave been all of thirty-two. Anyway, we'd always gottenalong very well, particularly after I'd cured him of what hethought was chronic dyspepsia.

He looked at me and sketched a salute. "Thought I'd seeto your cabin m'self, sir," he said.

I said, "Thanks very much." I wished he wasn't there.Cold sweat was beginning to roll off my forehead, and I hadto pull out a handkerchief and mop at it. I tried to cover upby pulling out cigarettes and offering him one. I said, "Have a smoke—and don't be so official."

He grinned and took a cigarette. He said, "Don't youworry, Doc. It ain't pleasant—but it's soon over."

I said ruefully, "Do I look as bad as that?"

"I seen worse." He went past me to the bunk and tilted it into the right position for the Jag, and secured it and pulledout the broad webbing straps. He looked at me again. Hewasn't smiling this time. He said, "One thing, Doc: for aJag, you gotta strap yourself real tight."

"I'll make a note of it," I said. I tried a smile, but itcouldn't have been very successful, because he suddenlyreached out a hand and patted me on the shoulder.

"Take it easy," he said. "Take it easy."

He went out, closing the door behind him.

I lit a cigarette and walked up and down the cabin, foursteps each way. I thought the time was dragging, but it only seemed a couple of minutes before the shrill whistle of the 'All Hands' signal came over my communicator.

"Now hear this," came Adams' voice. "All hands to DCstations—all hands to DC stations. Section chiefs reportcompliance. That is all."

It wasn't only my forehead that was sweating now. I waswet all over. I leaned back against the tilted bunk andbraced my feet against the rests and started to fasten theleg straps. The soft woven plastic felt cold and slippery inmy fingers.

The door opened and the Bosun whipped in. I said, "Hi, there—" and didn't even try to smile this time.

"Only gotta coupla minutes." He pushed me back againstthe bunk. "No time for gab." He finished strapping my legs—so tight that I began to wonder about circulation. Hestarted on the main body strap, and I groaned and began tocomplain. And then thought better of it and shut up.

When he'd finished with me I could hardly breathe."Grab them hand-holds now," he said. "Grip like you wastryin' to bend 'em." He fished in his pocket and pulled outtwo little things I couldn't identify. "These'll help some," he said and bent over me and inserted one of them intoeach of my ears. He looked down at me for a second—andsuddenly grinned.

Then he was gone. A few minutes or years or secondslater I heard—faintly because of the ear plugs—the whistleof the communicator. Three blasts this time—with no voiceto follow them...

There was a lull—and then the Jag began...

The first step was a violent, somehow convulsive shud­dering which shook the whole fabric of the ship until thethought stabbed through my mind that something waswrong, that some part of the infinitely intricate machine hadfailed.

Against the cruel tightness of the straps my body was forced forward until I thought the plastic would sink deepinto my flesh.

Then came the Noise. In spite of the earplugs it seemedto go right through my head like a white-hot scalpel. A sortof apotheosis of sound, which came from tortured metalstrained to the very limit of its endurance.

Then everything—the Noise and the shuddering vibra­tion and the cutting of the straps—it all seemed to mergetogether and be inside me. I felt as if my whole being—andI mean more than my body—were fighting against a forcedetermined on my utter disintegration...

Then—nothingness. . . Until I came back together andfelt hands working on the straps around my legs.

It was the Bosun. He was standing normally, and I knewthe A.G.F. was on again. As he undid the body straps, Imanaged to croak some words at him. He probably couldn'tmake them out, but he knew what I was trying to say.

He said, "You can quite worryin', Doc. We're through—everything's all terrashape..."

IV

It wasn't long before I'd stripped off my sodden clothesand put on a fresh uniform and made my way to the Mess.Except for a headache, and a weak feeling around myknees, I felt pretty good. But I needed a drink—badly.

I wasn't the only one, because Farman was there, half­way through a powerful concoction he always called aSpacehound Special. My heart sank when I saw him; Ididn't feel like being ribbed.

But I needn't have worried. For once, it seemed, JerryFarman didn't feel like pulling legs. He said, "Hi, Doc,"and raised his glass. And then he said, "That was one toughJag, all right!" He pulled out his cheeks. "Thought I wasnever coming together again."

That made me feel better. I said, "So did I," and mixedmyself a drink and drained half of it at one gulp. "My legs are the worst," I said. "They don't feel right, somehow."

Farman said, "That's not you, Doc. That's the ship. It's the difference in speed." He emptied his glass and set itdown and started out. But he checked at the door andturned. He said, "Like to come up in the Control Area?Quite a thrill to look in the big peeper now."

I grabbed at the opportunity eagerly, so eagerly that Ileft half my drink untasted and in less than a minute wasfollowing Farman along to the Control Area. Adams wasin the pilot's chair, but his eyes were on the eight-footscreen of the big viewer. He didn't move when we came in,but Quinn saw us and jumped up. He said, "Ah!" andlicked his lips thirstily. He looked at me and said, "Sit inmy place if you like, Doctor," and brushed past me and wasgone.

Adams spoke to Farman, still without looking around.He said, "Give me a fix, Jerry, Right away."

"Check," said Farman and slid into his seat in front ofthe huge astro-globe swinging gently in its transparent case.Quinn's chair was a little apart from the Pilot's and theAstrogator's, beside the two banks of computers. I slippedinto it and swung it round and looked across at the screenof the viewer.

And let out a startled exclamation. Gone was all thatsensation of being stationary in a moving Cosmos. Now—Icould feel it!—the ship was moving, heading like an arrow toward one single blazing star that hung in the blacknessahead...

Altair—an impossible, blazing jewel hung on an impos­sible curtain of the blackest impossible velvet...

V

Hours later—about 1800 by our time—I was in theControl Area once more. I'd been in the Surgery, fixing forthe mandatory pre-arrival check-up, but I'd sneaked back as soon as I could, to find Quinn had gone to the Relaychamber. So I slid into his chair again...

And saw something which made my first view of Altair,which had so impressed me, seem almost insignificant.When I first sat down, the only difference I could see wasthat the jewel-like star was nearer and therefore larger—but presently, as I watched, other and smaller jewels beganto thrust through the black velvet all around the great cen­tral stone. And each jewel seemed to my fascinated eyes tobe a different color.

They were stars—and it was like watching them beingborn. The fact that I knew they were other, farther awaymembers of a constellation which had been existing sincethe beginning of Time made no difference to the exquisitesensation of watching them, for me, come into being. . .

I don't know how long I sat there, fascinated, but at last Quinn came back and they almost dragged me out of thechair—and Adams and I left the Control room and hadsome sort of a meal, after which I went to bed.

But not to sleep. Adams had told me that by our morningwe'd be in sight of the Altair planets, and I was too excitedto do much more than doze sporadically.

During the last of the dozes, I was brought wide awakeby a shrill whistle from the communicator, and then Adams' voice calling all hands to General Assembly.

I pulled on clothes and hurried along to the men's mess,where all Assemblies were held. I took my place in the frontrow, with Farman and Quinn. Behind us were the Bosunand the two non-coms. Behind them were the rest of thecrew. There were twenty of us. John Adams wasn't thereyet, in accordance with the unwritten protocol which seemsto provide that Commanders must always keep everybodywaiting.

I looked around, and thought for the thousandth timehow young all the faces were. Young, that is, in flesh andcoloring, in cellular tissue. But in another way, not young at all but tough and weathered by experience. From this, Igot onto my old line of thought about the new breed thesechildren constituted.

Then Adams arrived. He stood at the end of the messroom and looked us over. He was saturnine and controlledas ever, and it occurred to me that he was even more repre­ sentative of the new breed than any of the others. Perhapsthis was because he seemed somehow, in spite of his very definite good looks, sort of ageless, with more self-recog­ nized force and control than his twenty-seven years or socould conceivably have given him in any other walk of life.

"You all know why you're here," he said at last. "To betold, in accordance with Standing Orders, what this trip'sabout. Personally, I think this way of not telling a crewwhat a mission's about until they've reached the objective —well, I think it's damn silly. Outdated as rocket propul­sion. I think you ought to've been told, not only where weare going, but why." One of his rare smiles came here. "Butif any of you space-bugs quotes me, I'll have him on Chargefor maligning an officer."

There was a ripple of laughter, and he went on, We'reheaded for the fourth planet of Altair, as you all know. IfLt. Farman's as good an Astrogator as he says he is—" an­other laugh—"we ought to be settling down in twenty-fourhours." He paused a moment. "We don't know anything about this planet. We are on Reconn. Object: to find out what's happened to Exploratory Mission Eighty-three. Thismission left Earth Base twenty years ago, Earth time. Theship was the E-X Craft 101, Bellerophon. She carried theusual mixed crew of scientists, technicians and guards. Theexpedition was the first to the constellation Alpha Aquilae."

He ran his eye over us again. "Nobody knows what'shappened to Bellerophon. Or the expedition. We don't evenknow if they landed on Altair-4 at all. This is because anyform of radio communication over this distance is damnnear impossible even today, and the Bellerophon's equip­ment was twenty years older than ours...

"So there you are: our job's to find out if the Bellerophonmade it, and if she did, what's happened to the crew. Don'tforget the tune-squeeze: if they survived, we're in for an in­teresting visit. Because they'll have spent twenty years on aplanet man's never touched before..."

And that was all. He dismissed the Assembly and hurriedback to the Control room, taking Farman with him. He wasnoted among the crew, especially the older hands like myfriend the Bosun, for hating to leave his ship under unsu­pervisedAutomatic Control. They liked it. To them it wasthe mark of a really good Commander.

As I made for the door, I found Quinn beside me. I likedAlonzo Quinn, in spite of his precise, rather old-maidishmanner—which, I was beginning to believe, derived mainlyfrom his profession. After all, a Devisor has to be a fuss-budget to do his job properly.

I said, "I suppose it's different for you old hands, but forme this is all pretty exciting."

He studied me through his large glasses. "Eminently un­derstandable, Doctor."

"I don't see much sleep for me tonight," I said. "Toomany things to wonder about."

"May I strongly advise against 'wondering'," said AlonzoQuinn. "The more mental forecasts you make, the greaterthe shocks you're likely to get..."

VI

Adams' prediction that twenty-four hours would see theend of our journey looked like being a hundred per centcorrect. Because some time in the small hours I was wakedfrom a thin sleep by the whistle of the communicator—andthen, oddly, Farman's voice. It said:

"Hear this: Lieutenant Farman speaking for the Com­mander. Our objective, Altair-4, is in sight. All hands noton duty—repeat, not on duty may use the deck-2 viewers.The planet and satellites are visible on the port side. Thatis all."

I was out of bed and across to my viewer in one jump. Iflipped the switch—and waited impatiently while it clouded,glowed—and cleared...

Strangely, my first reaction was one of disappointment.It looked so small, hanging there like some Christmas dec­oration right in the middle of my screen. And there wasnothing strange (God knows what pictures my mind hadbeen conjuring up!) about its shape. Except that its generalcontour was a little more squeezed at the ends, a little more ovate, it looked pretty much like Earth.

But then I began to realize how beautiful it was. Andstrange, too, with its atmosphere spreading a turquoise-shimmering halo; with its two small greenish moons whosetint was like no tint I'd ever seen before. . .

I must have stood there for an hour, watching while our speed brought the planet closer and closer, swelling it untilit filled the viewer completely...

I was brought to myself by a visit from the Bosun." 'Mornin', Doc," he said. "Commander's compliments— and if you'd like to go up to Control you're welcome." He grinned at me as I jumped for my clothes. "Gettin' quite ajet outa this, huh, Doc?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I pulled on my blouse and buttonedit feverishly. "If you want to know whatI think, this blaseattitude you Spacehogs cultivate's just a pose."

He looked at me, his grin fading. "Could be," he said."Maybe we had too much experience. Maybe we cover upbecause we're scared."

There was something about his tone, and I looked upquickly from putting on my shoes. But all I saw was hisback as he went out the door...

Up in Control, I found Adams and Farman and Quinnall at their places. But the big viewer was blank. I didn't un­derstand why it had been switched off until Adams pulled the communicator mike toward him and said into it, "Hear this: Commander to Crew. We are about to enter the F.I. ofour objective. All hands to D.C. Stations. All hands to D.C. Stations. That is all."

I understood then. We were about to go through whatthey called a second-grade deceleration as we pierced theenvelope of the planet's atmosphere. I didn't mind. I'd hadthis in training; it wasn't anything like a Jag. Farman and Quinn went over to the row of huge D.C. lamps at the edge of the area, and I followed with Adams close behind me. I crossed to my station at the end of the row and stepped uponto the platform under the lamp. The others stood on their platforms, Adams last.

Almost immediately the ship shuddered, the lights flick­ered and then dimmed, and the ship's bell began to count in measured beeps. Simultaneously, the odd varicolored Ome­ga rays from the lamps above our heads poured down over us. I had a numb, powerless feeling all over, and began tofeel sick at my stomach.

The bell stopped. The lights went up, and the D.C. lamps cut themselves off automatically. I stepped down from myplatform. My neck was stiff, and I still felt a little queasy.But that was all. I said, "I wish they'd get those lamps upto a point where they'd look after a Jag," but no-one paidany attention. Adams and Farman were already back intheir seats, and Quinn brushed past me to go to an appara­tus I remembered was the short distance radio control.

Then someone must have switched on the viewer again—because the screen glowed and flickered, warming up.

And suddenly Altair-4 filled the screen like a huge reliefmap, one whole hemisphere bathed in the light of its sun-star, Altair. The light was still the strange blue-green, as ifit had been filtered through a turquoise screen, and it had an astonishing quality of clarity...

I was fascinated, my whole consciousness seemed to be in my eyes, so that all my mind could do was receive im­pressions. It was like being under hypnosis, and I've no ideaat all how long it lasted.

When I did start thinking again, the first thought was asurprised one. Because of the increasing likeness of theplanet to Earth. Here was no grey-white, crater-pitted Lunar waste; no red, canal-scarred Martian monotony.Here were plains and oceans, rivers and mountain ranges —and no single overriding coloration but every imagin­able—and some unimaginable—shade, and gradation ofshade...

I suddenly wanted to talk about it. To somebody, any­body. I looked away from the screen for the first time, andat once was aware of tension, Nobody had moved, nobody seemed to be doing anything, but there was an atmosphereof strain which was almost tangible.

Adams spoke suddenly, and I almost jumped out of myskin. He said, "Still nothing, Lon?" and Quinn shook his head without looking around. I saw he had on his head anoddly-shaped pair of earphones. He said, "Nothing, Skip­per. I thought there was a moment or so back, but it wasonly static." I could see the frown behind his spectacles."Peculiar static—but static nevertheless..."

Farman looked up. "Going to take a whirl at the otherhemisphere, Skipper?"

"Why the hurry?" Adams was curt. He looked at Quinnagain. "Keep at it, Lon," he said, and turned back to hisPilot controls.

I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself. Here I'd been in atrance of excitement over my own sensations, while all thetime the others were thinking about the men we'd come tofind.

Now I couldn't think of anything else, and only dartedoccasional glances at the screen to see what Adams was do­ing with the ship. He seemed to be coming down, very slow­ly, and coursing in wide spirals at the same time. . .

Half an hour went by, maybe an hour. And still we hadno success. Quinn's frown was deeper, Adams' mouth agrim line. Even Farman looked worn and harassed. Once I thought we had something. They had switched on the big speaker now, over the Pilot's chair—and, suddenly, sounds had come out of it. Strange sounds. They were like—well,like nothing in my experience.

But Quinn said they were static—and he was the expert.He had to be right...

The time dragged on. The spirals brought us lower, but very slowly. At a word from Adams, Farman slipped on apair of the new I.M. goggles, and stood up close to theviewer screen, studying it.

"Not a sign of mass habitation, Skipper. Not a city, nota bridge, not a dam." His schoolboy grin came back for amoment. "Not a damn thing, in fact." The grin faded. "Icould be missing isolated structures, but they'd have to bepretty small."

Adams growled, "Keep looking." I think he was going tosay more, but he didn't get the chance. Because Quinn cutin, sharply:

"Skipper—Skipper! We're being radar-scanned. Se­quence K!"

From the big speaker came a sudden raucous cackling,and Quinn's whole body tensed as he shot out a hand toone of the dials and adjusted it with feverish caution.

The cackling stopped—and a resonant, metallic voicecame from the big speaker.

"... being scanned..." it said.

It was like an impossible echo of Quinn, and it brought me out of my seat. I stared up at the mouth of the speaker.Adams and Farman were staring too. Quinn said some­thing—but none of us heard him as the voice came again.

It was slow and low and measured. It said, "Space Ship, identify yourself. You are being scanned. . . Space Ship,identify yourself. You are being scanned..."

Adams grabbed for his microphone. "This is UnitedPlanets Cruiser C-57-D, John Adams Commander. Whoare you?"

There was a pause, a long one. And there was a subtlechange in the metallic voice when it spoke. As if its wordscame reluctantly:

"This is Morbius speaking."

Farman set down an open paper on the ledge in front of Adams' chair.

Adams glanced at the paper. "Edward Morbius?" hesaid. "Of the Bellerophon?"

"That is correct," came the voice—and said nothingmore.

Adams and Farman exchanged a glance. They were aspuzzled as I was. The man's reaction to this first contactwith Earth in what must have been, for him, a couple ofdecades, seemed all wrong.

Adams said, "It's good to know the Bellerophon made it,Doctor Morbius." He was trying to hit the proper note.

There was another pause. And then, "Do you contem­plate a landing, Commander?" Now there was no mistakingthe coldness in the voice.

"What else?" Adams said. "You don't seem to under­stand, Doctor. My mission's solely concerned with the Bel­lerophon party. To report on their present state. And re­lieve them if necessary."

There was more than a pause this time. There was asilence so long that Adams looked at Quinn and said, "Still on?"

Quinn nodded definitely, and Adams turned back to hismicrophone. He said, "Look, Doctor Morbius—are youunder duress of any kind? You answer Yes or No, and I'lldo the talking."

This brought instant response. "There is no question ofduress, Commander." Now the tone was harsh and inci­sive. "There is no need for assistance of any kind. It is un­necessary to land. In fact, it is inadvisable." There was apause now. "It might, indeed, be disastrous."

Adams said, picking his words, "My orders—I repeat,my orders—are to land on Altair-4 and survey the situa­tion."

"A Space Commander's orders must always be subjectto his discretion." The voice was harsher still, and louder."I repeat, it is unnecessary for you to land. I also repeatthat it might be disastrous."

Adams said, "My discretion follows the same line as myOrders." He was flat, deliberate. "I'd like co-ordinates fora landing. As near you as possible." While he talked hescribbled something on a pad, passing it to Farman.

Farman got up quickly, taking the pad to Quinn. I couldguess it was an order to try and trace the location of theother radio.

"Commander," said the voice. "If you set down on thisplanet I cannot be answerable for the safety of your ship.Or its crew." There was a tremor in the sound. It mighthave been anger, or fear.

Adams said, "I'm going to put down, Doctor Morbius.What's the nature of this danger?"

Silence. Farman brushed past me, and I caught a glimpseof the pad again. Quinn had written, "Narrowed to squareapprox 50 terramiles."

Farman thrust the pad in front of Adams. Who glancedat it; then spoke into the transmitter. "I'll repeat, DoctorMorbius. What is the nature of this danger?"

This time there was an answer. It was oddly hesitant. "It cannot be—adequately described. There are no terms—"

Adams cut in, "Then give me the co-ordinates for land­ing. As a senior member of the Expedition, you're requiredto know them."

"You understand I shall disclaim responsibility? Foranything that may happen to you." The tremor was back in the voice, definitely a tremor of anger this time.

"The co-ordinates please."

We heard a sound which can only have been a sigh. Andthen, "I have the log here, and our Astrogator's figures. .."

Adams made a sign to Quinn, who went quickly over to him. Farman, pad and pencil ready, bent closer. The voicebegan to call off figures interspersed with technical phrases.They had no meaning for me—but Farman was copyingthem down, with Quinn studying the pad over his shoulder.

"That is all," said the voice. Adams shot a quick glanceat Quinn, who was now rapidly figuring in a notebook ofhis own.

Adams stalled. "I'll check back," he said into the trans­mitter, and began to read from the pad. He had almost fin­ished when Quinn looked up, nodded decisively.

Adams came to the end, and the voice said, "Perfectly correct, Commander." Again we heard that unmistakablesigh.

There was silence after it. It was a different sort ofsilence from the others, and Quinn jumped back to his con­trols. He fiddled with dials for a moment, but then lookedup and shook Ms head. "Cut off," he said.

Nobody spoke for a moment, and then Farman said,"Not what you'd call a red carpet welcome, huh?"

Adams looked at Quinn. "Those co-ords did check withyour trace figures?"

"Definitely." Quinn was very sure. "Almost exactly inthe middle of my fifty-mile square."

"What were you thinking, Skipper?" Farman asked."That Morbius might be bringing us down in the wrongplace?"

"Or in the middle of trouble," Adams said. To my sur­prise he glanced over at me. I thought he'd forgotten myexistence. "What did you think of that voice, Doc? Occurto you he might be off his beam?"

"No," I said. "No, it didn't." I pondered. "Emotional-swinging between anger and fear. That's what I thought—"

"Fear?" Adams pounced on the word. "For himself?"

"I don't think so." I shrugged. "I'm only guessing, ofcourse. Seemed to me he was genuinely afraid on your account. The anger was because you refused to take hissay-so."

Quinn said, "Skipper, what did you mean when youasked if he might be under duress?"

"Just that," Adams said. "Why shouldn't there be—intelligent native life down there?" He sat back, half-closing his eyes, weighing everything in his mind.

It didn't take him long. He sat up and looked at JerryFarman and snapped, "Punch out a course from thosefigures," and switched to Quinn. "Lon, get busy on at­mosphere and grav. tests as we lose altitude." He swiveledhis chair and switched on the communicator and pickedup its mike.

"Commander to crew," he said into it. "Commander to crew. Now hear this: We are going to land on our objec­tive. Until further orders the ship is on B-Alert. Repeat— from now until further orders, B-Alert, Bosun: report to Control Area when Alert complete. That is all."

He switched off the communicator and looked at me.Farman was already busy feeding figures to his computer, Quinn intent on his control banks.

"Alert-B," Adams snapped. "That doesn't stop yourpre-landing check, Major."

I muttered an apology, and got myself out of there indouble time and made for the surgery. It had no viewer, but that didn't matter. I was too busy anyway. . .

Some time after I'd passed the last man, another ordercame from Adams, and some crumbs of information. Over the communicator, his voice was clipped and flat:

"Now hear this: The ship will be on A-Alert from themoment this message ends. On A-Alert from the time thismessage ends. We are preparing to set down. Tests showthis is a Terra-type planet. Atmosphere and gravity don't—repeat, do not—call for suits or helmets. Dress will beField Order Two, with arms. Bosun, report to ControlArea when A-Alert complete. That is all."

I hurried to my eight-by-six to change. ..

TWO

Major (Medical) C. X. Ostrow

Continued

I

We were down. We'd landed on Altair-4.

We were ready for anything—but it didn't seem to behappening.

Like some huge impossible mushroom growth, the shipsquatted on her landing gear. With the turquoise-tintedlight gleaming on her hull, she seemed to loom even biggerand sleeker than she had on the day, ten Earth-years andcountless millions of miles ago, when I'd caught my firstsight of her at the launching base.

Inside her, men were stationed at her blast and disinte­grator guns, the open gun-ports making black holes in herglittering flanks. Outside, the rest of the hands, all armed, were spread in a protective circle. Some little way beyond the circle were the Officers—and, much to my delightedsurprise, I was with them. I'd been afraid that, as we were still on Alert-A and ready for trouble, I was going to beordered to stay aboard, in the Surgery. But I hadn't been,thank God.

And—thank God again—no one was interfering withme. Adams, binoculars at his eyes, was making a slowand careful survey of the horizon. Farman was pacing up and down, dragging at a cigarette. Quinn, on hands andknees, seemed lost in examination of the sandy soil. I wason my own—and very lucky. The others had to think, butI didn't. I could let them do the worrying and give myselfup to my senses and try to absorb the strangeness. . .

It took some absorbing. Gone entirely was the feeling ofsimilarity to Earth. We were on a desert, with a sun beat­ing down on us. There was air we could breathe and sandwe could walk on. There were vistas our eyes could see,and we could hear the crunching of our boots as we moved. But nothing was the same; nothing was evenremotely Earthlike...

But I felt—wonderful. I drew in deep breaths of thesoft, heady air. I looked up at the turquoise sky, and downat the red sand, I looked around at the weird stalagmiticspears of blue-grey rock which thrust up through the sandin haphazard clusters, and then I looked past them andout around the horizon at the ranges of jagged green-greymountains on one side and the gentler slopes on theother; slopes which, shimmering in the glare, might be clothed in vegetation...

I was startled by Quinn's voice from close beside me.It said, "Look at this, Doctor," and I turned to see himholding out to me a chunk of the blue-grey rock.

"An extraordinary formation," he said. "Harder thangranite, but lighter than pumice!"

I stretched out my hand for the thing—but never fin­ished the gesture. Because from behind me came a shoutin Adams' voice:

"Bosun! Alert—your left front!"

I whipped around and saw that Adams was pointingout across the red desert. Miles away in the middle dis­tance, a dark cloud of sand was whirling toward us attremendous speed. I told myself it might be some trick ofwind, like a 'dust-devil' in Arizona, but somehow I knewit wasn't.

I heard the Bosun barking orders—and saw four of thecrewmen move up to stand level with Adams. After that,none of us moved. Or spoke.

The sand-cloud whirled on, making straight for us—andI saw, inside or perhaps just ahead of it, something fromwhich the light struck metallic gleams.

The speed was so great that, in a matter of seconds,it was almost up to us—whatever it was—and decelerating with a smooth violence which raised the dust-cloud evenhigher. It came to a stop about twenty yards from wherewe stood, and a crewman on the right of Adams suddenlybrought his blast gun up to his shoulder. The Bosunroared at him, and the man pulled the weapon down tothe ready with a convulsive jerk. I couldn't help sym­pathizing with him, though: there had been something—there was still something—about the swift, rushing ap­proach which had tightened every muscle in my stomach.

The dust died down—and we found ourselves lookingat what was obviously a vehicle. It had odd, frail-lookingwheels, and seemed to be made of metal and plastic. Perhaps fifteen feet long, it was a weird, clumsy shape.In front, towering above the rest, was an amorphous massof metal from the top of which came occasional stabsof light. Behind this, the flat, sled-like body had four seats protected by cone-shaped windscreens. But the seats wereunoccupied—and, in front of me Farman muttered, "The damn thing's empty!"

I heard myself saying, "That must be the—the enginein front. But where's the driver?"

Adams said sharply, "Shut up. Watch."

And I saw that the whole towering bulk of what I hadtaken for engine, the source of power, was in motion.It was rising, growing taller...

And it—it stepped down from the vehicle, leaving onlythe flat platform. The source of power, it seemed, wasalso the manipulator of the power...

It was erect—a bulbous shape some seven feet high and constructed like a mad infant's drawing of a man,with the mass of it contained in the body. Below the bodywere two stumpy, stilt-like legs and projecting from theupper part, at the shoulders, two arm-like projections. Thehead was a dome-like excrescence, and it was from thisthat the stabs of light were coming...

The thing turned and began, slowly and ponderously,to walk toward us. The Bosun drew closer to Adams andsaid something, and Adams barked, "No!" decisively. "It'sgot no weapon I can see."

Jerry Farman said, "Could be a weapon, Skipper," butAdams only made a gesture for silence.

We stood still, watching the thing plod close and closer.It had a curious, rolling gait—and I could see the leg-likeprojections were articulated.

It stopped, fronting us, about fifteen feet away. Thefront of the headpiece was louvred, and through thelouvres lights were flashing. More brightly now, and in a pattern. A grating noise came from inside the metal shell—

And the thing spoke. The sound was a metallic mono­tone, but speech nevertheless.

I was so astonished that I missed the first two or threewords. But I heard, ". . . welcome. I am to take the Com­mander and Officers to Doctor Morbius."

On the last word, everything stopped. The lights werecut off. And the voice. And the grating sound which hadgone with it.

It was as if the thing had died. Now it just stood there, a crudely shaped, inanimate hunk of dark metal.

An excited babble burst from Quinn as he grippedAdams by the arm. I caught the words, ". . . Robot. . .. . . remote control—" and then he stopped. Fascinated,he dropped his hand from the Skipper's arm and startedforward.

But Adams reached out and grabbed his shoulder andpulled him roughly back. He staggered momentarily, thenstood very still, shooting a baleful glance at Adams thatI'd never have thought him capable of.

Farman was talking now. "Robot!" he was saying con­temptuously. "Whoever saw one like that? Except in akid's viddy-strip." I knew he was thinking how differentthis was from the hundreds of sleek, box-like robot-machines that were coming more and more into use athome. But in the back of my mind I was haunted by amemory I couldn't pin down. Something to do with Robot.Not the fact, but the word itself...

The lights behind the louvres began to flash again. Andthe grating sound came, and then the voice.

"I am to inform you," it clanged, "I am monitored toreact to word Robby."

And then the thing died again. No lights, no sound.

"Hear that, Lonnie?" Adams looked at Quinn. "Youwant to make some tests?"

"After you, sir." Our Chief Devisor and Engineer wassulking.

Adams shrugged. He took a pace forward and staredat the hunk of metal and said slowly, "Robby—can you understand me?"

The lights winked on. "Yes." The monosyllable clanged,and the voice stopped. But this time some of the lights stayed. In a steady pattern now, with no blinking andchanging.

Adams said, "Do I have to use the monitor word everytime I speak to you?"

"No." The light-pattern was shifting again.

"You are"—Adams hesitated—"you're a Robot ma­chine?"

"Yes. Word Robby is contraction."

"You're under the control of Doctor Morbius?"

"Yes." At the word 'Morbius' the pattern-change ofthe lights was. very fast. "I am to take Commander andOfficers to Doctor Morbius."

There was a silence then, and in it I heard myselfspeaking. I was saying, "My God—it thinks! Does every­one realize that? It thinks!"

Quinn said, "We don't know that, Doctor. Not yet."His anger, if it had lasted, was confining itself to Adams. "All we've seen is reaction and selectivity. From a basic bank." His eyes were fixed on the Robot with the flamingcuriosity of the expert.

Farman said, "Some bank! Ask it another, Skipper."

Adams, lost in thought, growled something whichmight have been, "Ask it yourself—" and Farman looked at me and said, "You take a shot, Doc. I can't think ofanything."

I stepped a pace forward, with half an eye on Adams.But he didn't pay any attention. I looked at the Robotand said, "Robby—" and then realized I hadn't thoughtof anything either.

The thing's lights cut off, for a flick of time, then cameon again. I guessed it was distinguishing between me andAdams. I said, "Robby—the atmosphere on this planet—it must be very rich in oxygen—" and then dried up.

"Oxygen content of air," said the metallic voice, "is4.7 above Terrapoint."

"Jeez-us!" Farman grabbed at my arm. "That wasn'teven a question you gave it!" He stepped in front of meand looked at the Robot and raised his voice. He said:

"Hey, Robby—" and again I saw the lights cut off andthen come on immediately—"Whadda we call you? Misteror Missus?"

There was a snicker from the crewmen: this was Far­man all over, turning everything into a gag. I glared athim, and so did Quinn, who snarled, "If you think you're going to get an answer to that—" and then stopped short,gaping.

"Question not intelligible," said the metal voice. "Sexreferences inapplicable."

There was a pause—and then a shout of laughter fromthe men. "That's telling him!" said an anonymous voicefrom one of the flanking guards, and Farman grinned. Atrifle ruefully, I thought.

He looked at the Robot again, and said, "All right—soyou're cute. Now answer this one—"

He swallowed the last words as Adams suddenly cameout of his reverie. "Quit the foolery, Lieutenant," hesnapped. "And step back."

Farman gulped. He said, "Yes, sir," and stepped backsmartly and was quiet. The men were quiet, too. There'dbeen something in the Skipper's tone, and I was suddenlyconscious again of the situation we were in. And its un­pleasant possibilities.

Adams stepped closer to the Robot. He said, "Robby:this danger Doctor Morbius spoke about? What is it?"

The reply was definitely longer in coming than any ofthe others had been, and I noticed again a very fastchanging and rechanging of the light-patterns.

"Question not understood," said the metal voice at last. "Please reframe."

Adams said, very slowly, "What is the danger referredto by Doctor Morbius?"

The reaction to this was startling. The grating soundwhich always seemed to accompany speech rose to a high-pitched whine, and the lights flashed crazily. And then, as the sound stopped abruptly, they went out. And thething was dead again.

Farman muttered, "What's it done—blown a fuse?"And then, before anyone else had spoken, the lights cameon again in the bulbous head-piece. I thought they were in the same simple pattern as they'd been at the start, butI couldn't be certain.

The thing said, "I am to take Commander and Officersto Doctor Morbius." Exactly as it had at first.

Adams turned his back on it. He walked away a few paces, beckoning to Farman and Quinn, and then to me.We followed and stood around him and he said, "Twoof us'll go. Me and Jerry. Lon, you'll be in commandhere. As we leave, get back in the ship, and keep a trackon me all the tune." He tapped at the small glitteringcylinder on his audio-video set; it was clipped to his beltand looked almost like part of the buckle.

''Okay, Skipper," Quinn had obviously recovered fromhis pique.

Adams said, "Leave sentries outside. Keep the two bigblast-guns manned. And have the tractor assembled rightaway; in case you have to come after us."

"Right," said Quinn—and Adams said, "Any com­ments?" and looked at each of us in turn.

Farman and Quinn shook their heads. But I said,"Excuse me, Skipper, but you don't quite know what youand Jerry might run into, do you?"

Adams said., "Your guess is as good as mine, Doc."

I said, "But it could be trouble, obviously—"

"So?"

"So I think three's a better number than two," I said."And I'm not decrepit. And I have a hundred-eightyrating with this—" I touched the holster of my D-Rpistol—"and there's nothing much I could help Lonniewith on the ship—"

I didn't have to finish, because Adams grinned one ofhis fleeting grins. "All right," he said. "All right!" Thegrin faded fast, and he looked at Quinn again. "That's it, then."

"Right," said Quinn, and added, "Good luck." Andthen was off. I heard him shout to the Bosun as I followedAdams and Farman back to where the Robot stood.

I caught up with them as Adams stopped a few feetfrom the thing. He said, "Robby—" and the lights cameon in their first pattern—"we're ready to go to DoctorMorbius."

"Thank you," clanked the metal voice. "Follow please."The Robot turned and started, at its long lumbering stride,back toward its vehicle.

As we followed, I turned and looked back. With theexception of three sentries, there was no one to be seennow. The bright ship still squatted like an alien growthon the red sand, with the green-blue light shimmeringon her hull and the blue-grey pinnacles of rock thrusting themselves up in clusters all around her. It was all there—and all real—and all completely improbable.

And, to cap all improbabilities, here was I, CharlesXavier Ostrow, about to drive away over the unlikelydesert, in a preposterous jaunting car piloted by a me­chanical caricature of a human, in company with two hard-faced youngsters and heading for something, some­one, some place and situation about which none of us knew anything...

II

That was quite a trip. Our watches said it took lessthan fifteen minutes, but it seemed a great deal longerthan that. Maybe because I had my eyes shut half thetime.

We started, with tremendous acceleration which mademe thank God for the safety belts we'd found on the seats,heading straight across the desert for the mountains. Butthe desert, we found very quickly, wasn't as flat as it hadlooked from the ship. What we hadn't seen was a depres­sion which hid a tremendous cleft, half a mile across and ten times that in depth, which ran parallel to the way wewere going. This was when I first shut my eyes, becausethe Robot drove, without any slackening of the terrificspeed, directly along the lip of the chasm, so that it didn'tseem there could be more than six inches between ourwheels and extinction...

When I opened my eyes—cautiously—I saw we werepast the chasm and heading straight for a sort of rockyescarpment which shot abruptly out of the red earthbetween us and the mountains. The sheet of blue-grey rockseemed to stretch for miles on either side, towering per­haps a hundred feet above the floor of the desert. Therewas no break in it that I could see, yet we were hurtlingstraight at it. At a speed I hated even to guess.

I shut my eyes again.

There was a rushing interval, then a faint decelerationfollowed by the sharp swing of a curve. I heard one ofthe others say something. It sounded like an exclamation,and I risked another peek—and exclaimed myself.

There must have been an opening in the wall of rock,because now we were on the other side of it and rollingmuch slower down a gentle slope toward a broad valleywhich had the rock as one side of it and the foot of amountain as the other. And we might have been a thou­sand miles from any desert, because here, stretching outas far as we could see, were trees and shrubs and grass­ land, even the placid glimmering of a narrow river. . .

Again my first impression—as it had been to that viewof the planet from the air—was of similarity to Earth. But as we dropped down the slope, the valley came into betterfocus and the similarity dissolved. The trees which at firstglance might have been tropical Earth growths, weren'treally like any terra plant at all. Not in trunk, nor foliage, nor even shape. And the grass was a soft golden color andthe river a deep, deep blue, almost like the Mediter­ranean. ..

We didn't speak, our eyes were too busy. Deceleratinguntil we couldn't have been going more than forty terramiles an hour, we slid into a grove of the odd trees, ona track of hard, smooth earth which wasn't red like thedesert but almost the same blue-grey as the rock. The trees were thick on each side of us—and when I sawAdams and Farman with their hands on the butts of theirD-R pistols, I followed the example, not quite so eager forsightseeing now...

The trees began to thin, and the track curved. Wecleared the grove and seemed to be heading for a tower­ing shoulder or rock which jutted out from the mountain­side. Adams and Farman relaxed, and their hands cameaway from the pistols butts. The Robot was driving reallyslow now, and there was plenty of time to take stock ofour latest surroundings.

They were beautiful, but as different from the countrywe'd just passed through as that had been from the desert.I spotted what made the difference, and was just going tospeak when Adams did it for me.

"Landscaped," he said.

He was right. There was something about the wholeterrain, which stretched for maybe a quarter of a terra-mile each side of the rock-mass, that shouted of planning.The way the smooth reaches of golden turf melted intocopses of trees and shrubs; the way the deep-blue streamcurved in a graceful sweep; the way the whole vistamelted gradually into the mountains ahead and the wildcountry at each side...

I said, "You hit it right, Skipper. This was all laid out."

"There ought to be a building," Adams said. "Orbuildings."

Farman said, "But there isn't. Nary construction."

But I'd seen something. "Yes, there is," I said, pointing."Look at that pool."

It was on our left, with the track running between itand the shoulder of rock. It was surrounded by trees anda hedge which had reddish-white flowers and bluish leaves.It was fed by the blue stream, and might have been anatural little lake—except for what I'd seen on the farside.

Farman said, "You're nuts, Doc—it's just a pond."

I pointed again. "What about that paving? Like crazy-pavement at home! Don't tell me that's natural!"

But they weren't looking at the pool any more. Theywere staring out the other way. I turned my head and sawwe had passed the blunt end of the shoulder and werealmost in the shadow of its side. And then I saw a sightwhich astonished me more than anything else had yet.

Adams said, "I knew there had to be a house!"

Farman said, "Beam that! Right out of the solid rock!"

I didn't say anything; I was too busy trying to believewhat I saw. Which was a paved court or patio, with strangely colored flowers massed around a fountain ofthe blue water—and, behind, the timbered and windowed front of a long, low house which had no house backing it.Which had nothing behind it except the rock into whichthe front was inset. Some Herculean labor had scoopeda dwelling from the solid rock itself and then sealed themouth of the excavation with a house-front which told beyond any doubt it had been designed by Man. . .

We rolled to a stop at the edge of the patio, only afew yards from a massive door of some wood which lookedlike oak but was amethyst-grey.

"End of the line," said Farman, and unhooked hissafety belt.

The Robot spoke—and I started violently. SomehowI'd managed to forget what it was. It said, "Descendplease."

We descended. I was last, and as my feet hit theground the big door opened and a man stepped out andstood looking at us. Farman's hand started an instinctivemove toward his hip, but Adams nudged him viciouslyand the hand dropped to his side.

The man in the doorway came toward us. "So you havearrived, gentlemen," he said. "Allow me to introducemyself—I am Morbius." His voice was deep, but curiously flat and unresonant.

We stared at him. He was a big man, and striking, witha head of greying dark hair and a neat forked beard whichlent the impassive face an effect partly Oriental, partlysatanic.

Adams said, "John Adams, Commander." He includedme and Farman in a single gesture. "Lieutenant Farman,my Astrogator. Major Ostrow, our Medical Officer."

Morbius took a pace forward, and shook hands with usin turn. His grip felt like a much younger man's. There was a clanking sound from behind us, and the Robotclimbed off the vehicle and passed us with its lumberingstride and stopped by the open door and stood to one sideof it. I could see a single light glowing behind the head­piece louvres.

Morbius smiled. "His manners are always better thanmine," he said, "Please come in, gentlemen." He shep­herded us through the doorway—and behind us the Robotclosed the big door.

We were in a small entrance-hall, cool and dimlylighted. We left our caps on what looked like a big chestand followed Morbius through an archway and into a large room with windows all along its length. The glass waspreternaturally clear, so that when I looked out at thepatio, and the trees and grass and pool, they seemed tostand out more sharply than they had when we wereoutside.

We stood bunched together, a stiff-looking trio, andstared at our host. Who seemed as much at ease as we werethe reverse.

"Please sit down, gentlemen," he said. "Make yourselvesat home." There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth,and I was sure he was amused by us.

Farman and Adams close a settee, and I took a chairacross from them. Morbius stayed on his feet, and for thefirst time I noticed his clothes—a tunic and trousers ofsome dark, soft material which had a curious inner sheento it.

He said, "I hope you realize, gentlemen, that you aremy first visitors. This is therefore an Occasion—and mustbe treated as such." He smiled. "So if you will forgiveme for a moment—"

He crossed the room, and vanished through an innerdoor. Adams and Farman went into a low-voiced huddle, and I looked around me with avid curiosity at what wasobviously the main living-room of this extraordinaryhouse.

The most extraordinary thing about it was that it didn'tlook extraordinary at all. The room itself, and everything in it, was so well-designed, so well balanced, that it wasn'tuntil I'd begun to analyze it that I realized how unusualeverything was. So unusual—in fabric, shape and design—that I couldn't understand why the over-all impressionwasn't bizarre to the point of being fantastic.

However, it wasn't. Everything—the total picture—waspleasant, and comfortable, with an air of controlled lux­ury. It puzzled me, but I couldn't make it come out any other way and was just noticing that the material coveringmost of the furniture had the same curious inner sheenas Morbius' tunic, when the man himself came back intothe room.

He was followed by the Robot, which carried on oneof its stubby metal arms a tray with wine glasses and adecanter. It set down the tray on a low table near Adams and Farman, and then, without any word or sign from Morbius, crossed back to the door and went out.

Morbius picked up the decanter—it was like a solidtriangle of brilliant crystal, and filled with a pale, straw-colored liquid—and looked around at us.

"This, gentlemen," he said, "is a wine I make from acurious fruit we have here, grapelike, but arboreal ratherthan vineal." He took the stopper from the decanter,began to fill the glasses. "My first experiments weren't toosuccessful—but in the last few years I have been muchmore fortunate."

He handed us each a glass, but didn't pick up his own. He said, "Even the bouquet, you will find, is excellent."

I was lifting my glass when I caught a glance fromAdams; neither he nor Farman had raised theirs. Adams looked at Morbius and said, "Aren't you joining us, Doc­tor?" without any inflection at all.

"But of course—" Morbius picked up the last glass,and again I couldn't be sure whether a smile was tuggingat one corner of his mouth. He said, "Your health, gen­tlemen," and put the glass to his lips and drank.

Adams and Farman gulped at theirs, but after the firstsip I took mine slowly and with great respect. The winewas exquisite, its first impact like a sort of etherealizedNeirsteiner of the best vintage, but with a depth andsubtlety no Earthgrown grape could ever hope to match.

"Your verdict, gentlemen?" said Morbius—and Adamsgave him a "Very good," and Jerry Farman said, "Fine,fine." I said they had no more palate than a pair ofMartians, and told Morbius whatI thought, at some length.

I could feel disapproval from Adams, but I went onall the same. The man Morbius was fascinating me froma professional point of view, and I wanted to see his reac­tion to fulsome praise even over such a small matter asthe wine. It was what I'd expected, but so much moreso that I was amazed. He took the praise as his due, butit was easy to see that the more he got the better he liked it. He began to describe to me the whole process of his wine making—and I could see that, though Adams washis usual impassive self, Jerry Farman was growing moreand more impatient. Morbius must have noticed it too,because he suddenly broke off, made a neat but rathersardonic apology—and again asked us to excuse him for amoment; this time while he went to "see about lunch."

The door had hardly slid shut behind him, when Far­man turned on Adams. He kept his voice low, but hisblond brows were pulled together in a scowl. He said, "What the hell's going on? Is this a kaffe-klatch—or arewe on a mission!"

Adams looked at him. "That's enough, Jerry," he said."Take it easy."

But Farman was too angry to stop. He said, "I don'tget it! We're on orders to find out what happened to theBellerophon party—but before we even set down thisMorbius radios us to stay the hell away, we're not wanted!He says he's fine—but it may be too Goddamn bad forus kids if we land. So we land anyway. So he doesn'tmeet us himself, he sends a sonovabitch mechanical manfor us on a sonovabitch mechanical buckboard! So whatdo we do—put him through the hoop and find out what'scooking? Oh no! We sit around, drinking his Goddamnpuffleberry wine and saying Yessir-nosir while he getsbuttered up by Doc—"

"That'll do, Lieutenant!" Now Adams was getting madtoo. He stared at Farman with a steady cold eye. "I'm incommand of this mission," he said. "You want to com­plain about the way I handle it, put in a G-3 form whenwe get back. Till then, you'll do what I say. You'll raise no questions with Morbius. I'll do that. When I'm goodand ready." He switched the chill gaze on me. "That goesfor you too, Doc."

I nodded, and Jerry Farman said stiffly, "Very good, Commander."

Adams relaxed a little. "Maybe I want him to do the leading—," he began. But that was all, because the dooropened, and Morbius came in again. He crossed to uswith his long easy stride, and looked down at us, andtreated us to the smile. He said, "Robby informs me, gentlemen, that lunch is ready..."

III

We ate at a massive table in a corner half-walled offfrom the rest of the big room by a screening of translucent plastic brick. The food, like the wine, was delicious, andequally different from anything I'd ever tasted. But Ididn't really give it the attention it deserved; I was toobusy being conscious of the strangeness of everything else.Of being on Altair-4 at all; of being in this incrediblehouse cut out of rock; of wondering about this extraordi­nary man Morbius while I pretended to listen to the smalltalk he was exchanging with Adams; of trying to guesswhere the crystal glasses and the porcelain-like chinawarecame from; of being served this excellent food by a seven-foot machine which had presumably prepared it as well. . .

It was a discussion of the machine, the Robot (I wasalmost at the stage myself of thinking of it as "he" and"Robby") which brought me out of this haze of wonder.Because I suddenly heard Adams say, "You mean whatwe've been eating was all synthetic, made by the Ro—byRobby?"

Morbius' mouth twitched again, and this time I knewhe was repressing a contemptuous smile. He said, "Yesindeed. He has—how shall I put it?—a built-in abilityto produce substances by synthesis." He broke off, lookingacross to where the Robot stood like a motionless butler.

"Robby—come here," he said—and the thing obeyedinstantly, with three of its ponderous strides. It stoodbeside Morbius' chair—and the man swiveled in his seatand tapped the metal framework where the abdomenwould have been in a human structure. He said, "Downhere is the equivalent of a miniature, but excellently func­tioning, chemical laboratory. By feeding a sample of almostany substance, or compound substance, into this slot—"now his finger pointed to an aperture at about the positionof the thorax—"one sets the laboratory to work on ananalysis. This is completed almost simultaneously withthe introduction of the sample—and Robby can thenproduce an identical molecular structure..."

He paused there, letting this remarkable statement sinkin. He said, after the pause, "In any quantity, I shouldadd. If the volume required is relatively small, he cancomplete the reproduction within his own framework. Ifit's too large, he uses a workshop I've fitted up for him."

He swung back to face the table again, saying, "All right, Robby,"—and the thing turned and marched backto its butler's position.

Farman said, "The Scientist's Dream, huh?" He wassmiling; an incredulous, unpleasant smile. "And the House­wife's Delight."

"Also," said Morbius, "the perfect Jack-of-all-trades,"He seemed amused by Farman's disbelief. "Add selflessand absolute obedience, coupled with quite phenomenalpower, and you—" he smiled—"Well, you have Robby."

Adams said, "Phenomenal power?"

"Indeed yes!" Morbius was emphatic. "A useful factor,don't you think, in an instrument of this kind?"

"Maybe," Adams said. "Could be dangerous, though."

"Dangerous?" Morbius studied him with raised brows.

Adams said, "Suppose control was in the wrong hands."He was growing more and more expressionless.

Morbius laughed. "I trust you haven't cast me for thetired role of The Mad Scientist, Commander." He laughedagain, and I didn't like the sound.

"But even if I were," he said, "I assure you Robbycould never be a menace to other human beings." Hecocked a sardonic eye at Adams. "Which, I take it, iswhat you mean by 'dangerous.'"

"Why couldn't he?" Adams said. "He obeys orders,"

Morbius sighed. "Let me demonstrate, Commander,"he said wearily. "Robby—open the window."

The great metal figure lumbered past the table to theone window in this section of the room. It pressed aswitch in the framework and the glass slid down into thesill.

Morbius said, "Come here, Robby," and then, whenthe Robot stood beside his chair, turned to Adams again. "Would you lend me that formidable looking sidearm, Commander?"

Adams slid the D-R pistol from its holster and passedit across the table, butt foremost. I saw Farman, notbothering to conceal the movement, drop his hand on thebutt of bis own pistol.

Morbius handed Adams' gun to the Robot—and aclawlike grip I hadn't noticed before slid out of the metalarm and closed around the weapon.

"Aim this," Morbius said, "at the bough to the right."He pointed to the window, where a bush-like tree jutted a slender branch across a third of the open space.

The Robot raised the pistol. Somehow, with the action, it seemed more than ever the travesty of a man.

Morbius said, "Press the trigger."

There was the vicious spit-and-crackle and shimmeringblue flame-tongue a D-R always makes. And the boughceased to exist. It was as neat a shot, with as short a jet,as any Marksman first-class could have made.

Morbius said, "You now understand the mechanism?"

The Robot said, "Yes,"

"Aim it at Commander Adams."

"What the hell—" Farman jumped to his feet, pistolhalf out of his holster. But Adams waved him down, hiseyes fixed on the Robot.

The metal arm raised the gun; the muzzle pointed,rock-steady, at Adams' chest.

My hand went instinctively to my own pistol. The buttfelt reassuring.

Morbius said, "Robby—press the trigger!" His eyeswere on Adams, who hadn't moved a muscle.

An extraordinary sound, a sort of vibrant whine, camefrom the Robot. Behind the louvres of the head, lightsflashed madly, now in no particular pattern. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed to me that the wholehuge frame was shaking. The pistol remained pointed,but the metal talon didn't—could not—close on thetrigger.

Morbius said, "Order cancelled," and the weird agita­tion in the Robot stopped as quickly as it had started.The right arm was lowered, and Morbius took the pistolfrom the metal hooks and laid it on the table and pushedit across to Adams.

"You see?" he said. "He couldn't carry out that order.In simple terms, a basic inhibition against doing harmto—ah—any rational being was built into him."

Adams picked up the gun and slid it back into hisholster. Farman did the same with his. The tension oughtto have been eased—but somehow it wasn't. Adams wasmad; though his expression didn't change, I knew himwell enough to feel it.

He said, "Very interesting, Doctor." His voice waschill, clipped. "And now it's tune I got on with my job."He'd obviously given Morbius as much rope as he was going to. "First," he said, "I must interview the othermembers of your Expedition. And then—"

He stopped abruptly, staring at Morbius. The manhadn't spoken, but his expression was enough. He wasobviously suffering, and for the first time I felt humanityin him. His face was white and lined and he seemed,suddenly, ten years older.

"At last we come to it," he said slowly. "I supposeyou have thought my behavior strange, Commander—perhaps incomprehensible. But the tragic answer to yourquestion is also the reason for the warning I gave you notto set down your ship upon this planet..."

He paused, and I could see he was searching for words.But Adams pressed on. "One thing at a time," he said."What do you mean—'tragic answer'? Where are the others?"

Morbius met his eyes steadily. "They are dead, Com­mander."

There was silence—until Adams broke it.

"How?" he said. "When?"

"Before the end of our first year on this planet." Mor­bius' voice was heavy, tired. "They were—destroyed," hesaid. "By—by some inexplicable Force. .." He was search­ing for words again, and finding them all inadequate. Hisforehead was glistening with sweat. "A Force beyond all human experience. Invisible—impalpable—" He made a helpless gesture. "It was—uncontrolled—elemental..." Hisvoice died away.

"Uncontrolled," repeated Adams slowly. "Implyingthere's no native form of intelligent life on this planet."

"Exactly. If there were, the natural assumption wouldbe that this was controlling the—the Force." Morbius wasleaning forward now, his eyes fixed on Adams'.

"But," he said, with slow, deliberate emphasis, "there isno life here of the kind you mean. There is no nativelife here at all, except for the plants and a few forms oflower animal existence. . . You have my word for that.We explored this strange land very thoroughly—and com­pletely satisfied ourselves." His face clouded. "That wasin the first months, of course. Before—before the holo­caust. .."

"You said these people were destroyed. What did youmean? How did they die?" There was a factual coldnessto Adams' voice that verged on brutality.

Morbius closed his eyes. "They were—they were torn!. . . Rent apart! . . ." His voice faltered. "Like—like ragdolls ripped to bloody shreds by a malignant child!"

He put a hand to his head for a moment, then satstraight and looked at us again. The sweat was trickling down his temples. He said, "Come with me—" and stoodup and led us to the open window.

"Look there." He pointed. "Across the patio to thepool. Then beyond, to that clearing in the trees."

We saw a little glade, and in it a row of grassy mounds.Then- blue-grey headstones marked them unmistakably.

Morbius said, very low, "We did what we could, mywife and I. . ." He turned away abruptly and strode backto the table and dropped into his chair.

We followed him. After a moment Adam said, "Your wife, Doctor?" very quietly—and then, when Morbiusnodded, "There was no entry for her on the Bellerophon'srolls."

"Under Bio-Chemists, you will find the name JuliaMarsin." Morbius' voice was hardly more than a whisper."She and I were married on the voyage. By the ship'sCommander..."

Adams went right on, forcing the pace. "The otherswere killed, but you and your wife were unharmed? Howdo you explain that?"

"I don't. I—I can't." The man's voice was stronger now."The only theory I've evolved is that we both had a love for this new world. So that none of our thoughts, even,were inimical to it..."

"What does your wife think? Does she agree?" I waswatching Adams as he spoke, but I didn't know whetherhe had made the mistake on purpose.

Morbius flinched. "My wife thought exactly as I do. . .She died a year later, God help me! . . . Her death wasfrom—from natural causes..."

Still Adams didn't let up. He said, "I have to go on,I'm afraid. . . What about the Bellerophon—the ship her­self?"

"It was—blown to pieces. . . I almost said vaporized."A little color had come back to Morbius' face. "You see,when all but five of us had been victims of the—theForce, the three others determined to try to take the shipoff themselves. They were completely untrained as pilots or engineers—but they wouldn't listen when I told themthey hadn't a chance. They preferred to take the knownrisk..."

He stopped, pulling out a handkerchief and moppingat his face. "They succeeded in launching the ship," hesaid. "But they weren't more than a thousand feet upwhen there was a tremendous explosion, and a blindingflash. . . And the Bellerophon was gone—disintegrated. . ." He sighed, shook his head. "I've never been able todecide whether the disaster was brought about by theirignorance—or by another emanation of the Force. .."

Adams said, "And since you've been alone, you've neverhad any trouble with this 'Force'? Never even been threat­ened?" I wondered how much, if any, he believed, ofMorbius' story.

Morbius frowned. "I've told you I seem immune, Com­mander," he said curtly. "But I've taken such precautionsas I can. In case my—ah—status should change." Hetried a smile, not very successfully.

"Precautions?"

"Purely physical safeguards, Commander. . . This isone of them—" He reached out to the wall and presseda switch...

And in one silent split second day seemed to turn intonight. If lights hadn't flashed on in a ceiling-trough, wewould have been in pitch darkness.

Farman grabbed for his pistol again. Adams growled,"What the hell—"

Then I saw that metal shutters from sheathing in thewalls had flashed across the window beside us; presumably,too, over all the other windows in the room. The metalwas odd-looking—a sort of dull, brownish grey.

And I saw that Morbius was smiling that smile again.The demonstration, and its effect on us, had brought back his earlier manner. He said, "I am sorry if I alarmed you,gentlemen. But at least you see what I mean about physi­cal precautions. The whole front of this house is nowarmored." He pressed the wall-switch again, and the shut­ters flashed back, and daylight streamed in once more.

Adams looked at the window. He said, "That metal—what is it?"

Morbius hesitated. Perhaps he saw where the questionwas leading. He said slowly, "It's an alloy, Commander.A compound of native ores. Amazingly dense, tremen­dously strong, and extremely light."

"Native ores?" Adams said sharply. "Who found them?More important—who worked them?"

"I discovered them." There was a edge to Morbius' voice now. "Robby and I 'worked' them, as you call it."

Adams said, "Who built this house? Or excavated it?"

"The work was done in the main by Robby, Com­mander. And may I tell you—"

"In a moment. First—who made the Robot?"

There it was—the question which had been nagging at my mind ever since the extraordinary vehicle had arrivedout of the desert. Adams had taken the long way aroundto reach it, but I could see his reasons.

Morbius sat without speaking for a long moment.Neither he nor Adams moved. Beside me, Farman shifteduneasily in his chair and took out a cigarette and pulledoff the ignitor cap and started to smoke.

At last Morbius said coldly, "When you interrupted me,Commander, I was about to say that I didn't like yourtone. Nor your attitude."

"I'm sorry, Doctor." Adams was carefully precise. "I'monly trying to carry out my duties. Would you tell me,please, who designed and constructed the Robot."

"I think the answer is obvious, Commander. I designedand constructed the Robot." Morbius was standing now,leaning his hands on the table. It looked as if his self-control might break, and I wondered what would happenif it did.

Adams stood up too; they were almost of a height.Adams said, "From the Bellerophon roster I know you'renot what they call a practical scientist. You're a Philolo­gist. You deal in words and communications. Spoken,written or otherwise. Correct?"

"Entirely."

"So I wonder," Adams said, "just where you got theknowledge to do what you've done. Or the tools."

"As for the knowledge, Commander—you perhaps forget the old truism, 'Necessity is the Mother of Invention.' "Morbius flushed darkly—and then the blood ebbed fromhis face, leaving it startling white against the black of his beard.

Adams said, "You mean that to go for the tools too?"For the first time there was a deliberate edge to his voice.

"Tools?" Morbius said. "There is only one essential'tool,' Commander, and that is the mind." The bitter, con­temptuous smile appeared again.

Adams said, "That sounds very clever, Doctor. But I

don't know what it means." The edge to his voice was

sharper. "Maybe you'd better--"

He never finished, because there was an interruption.

It came from Farman, and it had nothing to do witheither Adams or Morbius. It was a wordless exclamation, but more expressive of amazement than any words couldhave been.

He had jumped to his feet, and was looking out towardthe main part of the room.

I turned my head—and found myself staring, incredu­lously, at Trouble . . .

IV

Trouble, as it so often is, was a woman. Or maybe Ishould say a girl. . .

She stood there, very much at home in this impossiblehouse, and surveyed the four males. She was perhaps nine­teen. She had hair the color of ripe corn and eyes as blue as the water in the stream outside. She was neither short nor tall, but exactly the perfect height to match the perfect lines of her body. Which, in the ancient phrase, was a sightfor sore eyes, every delicious line and curve of it covered yetdelightfully revealed by the dress she wore. It wasn't like any garment I'd ever seen, but it was as right for her as thestrange furnishings were for this strange house. It was inone piece, and although it was loose fitting, the lines it had were the lines of its wearer; not a clever imitation of those lines but somehow the very lines themselves. And the soft, beautiful material had the same inner glow of all the otherfabrics I'd seen here . . .

It could only have been a second or so, but it seemedmuch longer that we all stayed motionless, like a video-graph jammed on a single frame, until Morbius set thingsgoing again. He frowned at the girl and moved toward her.

"Altaira!" he said. "I asked you not to interrupt us—'

In spite of the frown and the harsh tone, he was a dif­ferent man. There was human warmth and feeling in everyline of him, every syllable he uttered.

She laid a hand on his arm. There was a ring on herlittle finger that sparkled with the blood-red of a ruby. Shelooked up at him, and the anger drained out of his face.And no wonder. It was a look which might have launched a thousand Space-ships, let alone Trojan galleys.

"But Father—" she said, "I thought you meant just at lunch—" She didn't seem to be looking at us, but I knewshe was.

"My dear child," began Morbius, "you know perfectlywell—"

"Of course I do," she said. "But I—I just couldn't keepaway. How could I!" Her voice was oddly, and delight­fully, deep.

Morbius smiled down at her. A very different smile fromany we had seen on his face. "No—I suppose it was toomuch to expect," he said.

Now she was looking at us openly. The color was comingand ebbing in her face and her breathing was fast.

Morbius faced us, dealing smoothly with what must havebeen an awkward situation for him. He said, "Let me pre­sent you to my daughter, gentlemen . . . Altaira—Com­mander Adams, Major Ostrow, Lieutenant Farman."

We made our bows. I don't know about mine, but JerryFarman's was admirable. In strong contrast to Adams',which was little more than a nod. He seemed to be trying to repress a frown, and his face had lost color.

I said, "How do you do?"

Farman said, "Delighted to meet you," making a palpableunderstatement.

Adams didn't say anything.

Morbius said, "You realize, gentlemen, that this is agreat experience for my daughter. She has never knownany human being except myself."

Farman looked at the girl. He was smiling, and I remem­bered all the stories I'd heard about him. His lupine pro­clivities were a by-word, even among Space-men who arewolves by nature.

He said, "How do we strike you?"

She took the question gravely, dropping her hand fromMorbius' arm as if to make sure her judgment wouldn'tbe influenced.

She said at last, "I think you are all beautiful."

It ought to have been ridiculous, but it wasn't. The onlysmile it drew was a fleeting one of embarrassment fromMorbius. I don't know what Adams thought: his face told nothing. But I do know I felt a sudden tremendous sym­pathy with the girl. Farman, of course, made capital outof it, and very smoothly.

He said, "After that, I must do something to show ourappreciation." He glanced back at the luncheon table. "CanI get you anything? A glass of that wonderful wine, maybe?"

He was smiling again now—and the girl gave him ananswering smile. Her mouth was as lovely as the rest of her. She said, "I think I would like wine. I'm thirsty."

I must say Farman's technique was superb. With notactics showing, he had suddenly separated her from therest of us and was with her at the far end of the dining-alcove.

I saw Morbius look at them. His face tightened and therewas a glitter in his eyes I didn't like.

But Adams' mind was apparently far from women or Farman. He said, "Suppose we go on with our talk, Doc­tor," and started for the other end of the room, makingfor the section near the windows where we'd sat when we first came in. But he didn't get there. Because Morbius in­dicated chairs in a nearer group and although he said, "Byall means, Commander," easily enough, it was plain hewasn't going any farther from the alcove.

Adams shrugged and sat down. Morbius took the chairnearest him, and I hovered. From the alcove came Farman'svoice—and then a peal of silver laughter from Altaira. Morbius frowned. I lit a cigarette.

Adams didn't waste any time, but on the other hand,when he spoke it was plain from his tone he wasn't plan­ning on keeping up the tension. He said, "There's one ques­tion I meant to ask before this: Why did you warn us off?Why didn't you want us to land?"

"If I didn't actually tell you, Commander," Morbius said,"I certainly implied the answer." His tone was mild, likeAdams', but my ear caught a note which might have beenwariness.

Adams said, "You were afraid we might be in danger?From this 'Force' you talk about?"

And then, before Morbius could reply, the girl cameout of the alcove, Farman at her elbow. She was radiant;any trace of shyness there might have been about her hadgone. She smiled at me, then lost the smile momentarilyas she glanced at Adams. He and I started to get up, butshe waved us back into our chairs with all the aplomb ofa grande dame and, still with Farman beside her, was walk­ing right on past us when Morbius said quickly, "Where areyou going, Alta?"

She stopped and turned. Farman stopped and turned.She said, "Outside for a few minutes. Lieutenant Farmanthinks I must be lonely here, so I told him I had my friends.He wants to meet them."

She moved on. Farman moved on. Morbius started toget up, then sank back into his chair, frowning. We heardthe big door open and close, and he shot an involuntaryglance toward the sound. It was the sort of glance I couldimagine Farman feeling even if he couldn't see it. I looked at Adams and then at the entrance—and he gave the ghostof a nod.

I said, "Friends?" and looked at Morbius with what I hoped was the right expression. Iwas curious anyway. Isaid, "What did your daughter mean, Doctor?" and madea movement as if I wanted to get up and go see.

We'd played it right. The frown went and Morbius said,"Why don't you join them, Doctor?" He actually smiled. "You might be amused, I think. And interested."

"Thanks," I said. "I'm sure I will be." I crossed quickly to the entrance and swung the big door open and steppedout onto the patio.

Farman and the girl weren't on it. They were on the otherside, walking across the oddly-tinted grass toward the bluepool. Again I heard the girl's laughter.

They didn't hear me until I was almost up with them. Then Farman turned his head quickly—and I got a lookwhich more than matched the one Morbius had sent afterhim. But then Altaira turned too—and he changed it to agrin.

He said, "Hi there, Doc!" and I said, "Hi!" and lookedat the girl and asked, "Could I meet these friends of yours too?"

"Of course you can," she said. "Do you wonder aboutmy friends as much as the Lieutenant does?"

Farman said, "I'll bet he does. Don't you, Doc?" Some­how, he was now between us; they were a pair, I was oddman.

Altaira took something from a pocket in the tunic-dress. It glittered in the turquoise light and looked like alittle golden tube. She said, "Now you must both stay here.And you mustn't move, or say anything. . ."

She walked away from us, making for the trees to theright of the pool. Looking after her, Farman spoke to me without turning his head. He said, "Hell, Doc! What's theidea trying to spoil my time?"

I said, "The hell with your time. There's a situation backthere." I jerked my head at the house. "You wouldn't wantMorbius after you, would you? With something a lot worsethan a farmer's hand-blaster!"

He was still looking at the girl. She'd stopped now, half­way between us and the trees. There was a big bushy plant beside her, and she was bending over it, reaching her armdown into its foliage.

Farman was watching her too. He said, "Pop can gosit on a rocket! It'd take more than him, or that Force ofhis, to keep me away from that!"

I said, "You'd better go easy, my friend. The Skipperwon't like it either."

"John Adams!" he said. "Hah!" and I realized I mightas well save my breath.

Now Altaira had straightened, holding something in herhand. With the other she put the tube to her lips. Therewas no sound, but I felt a sharp stabbing in my eardrums.So it was a supersonic whistle, like the dog-whistles at home, only of far higher range.

Adams had the same thought. "For Crissake!" he said."What're we going to see? Altairian chihuahuas?''

But what we saw was more astonishing than any dog would have been. I spotted them first, dark shapes drop­ping to the ground in the shadow of the trees, then racingout with weird bounding strides into the light.

"Monkeys, by God!" said Farman. "What the hell next!"

There were eight of them. They came skittering acrossthe grass in hops and canters and dog-trots, but when theyreached the waiting figure of the girl they spread out be­fore her in a semi-circle. A great chattering came fromthem, and we could hear Altaira's voice as she laughed andcalled to them.

"Monkeys!" muttered Farman again. "Goddamn wasteof time!"

I grinned at him. "That's quite a monorail mind youhave there," I said. "Doesn't it strike you as faintly interest­ing to find them here?"

He did look at me now, just for an instant. He said, "Say!That is a funny one!" and then shrugged. "Ah—what's amonkey, anyway?" His gaze switched back to Altaira.

I watched the semi-circle, fascinated, as one by one itsmembers came to the girl's call and took what she gavethem—it was some sort of food—and went back to theirplaces and sat nibbling. With every minute, I was moreastonished. Because each was of a different kind. Therewasn't even one pair. I began to name them to myself.There was a gibbon, a capuchin, a chimpanzee; a howler,an ouakari, a macaque; a titi and a durukuli. . .

In any place on Earth except a Zoo, the collectionwouldn't have made sense. And even in a Zoo they'd have had to keep them separate. But here, where even one kindseemed an impossibility, this peaceful collection was enoughto make a zoologist's mind start reeling. . .

The last to come to Altaira was the little marmoset. She held a tid-bit high for him, and he jumped to her shoulderin one spring and reached it from there. Her laughter cameback to us—and then, obeying some command, he ran backto his place in the semi-circle.

Altaira put the whistle to her lips again. This tune therewere two stabs in my ears—and out from the trees therecame trotting a pair of deer. They were both does, both White-tails—and somehow even more incredible here thanthe monkeys. They came straight to the girl and stoodclose, nuzzling at her. She put an arm around each neck and walked with them across to the bush and slid her handinto it again and brought out something which she gavethem to eat. She must, I realized, have a cache hiddenthere. The monkeys, all watching her, still sat in their semi­circle.

Now Altaira stood back from the deer and clapped herhands. The two creatures trotted off, back toward the treesagain—and in a moment I saw that the monkeys too were scampering away.

Farman said, "Maybe the circus is over, Doc?" Hestarted toward the girl; then stopped as she put the whistleto her mouth again. "Goddamit!" he said, "I want in the act."

This time there were three blasts against my eardrums. I wondered what was coming next, and saw that the girlwas staring off to the right, shading her eyes as she looked.

"Jesus!" said Farman suddenly. I wheeled around andsaw his hand go to his holster and yank out his D-R. I alsosaw, away to the left, what he had seen. From behind the flowering hedge which screened the pool, another animalwas coming. A very different animal.

A tawny, jet-striped Bengal tiger. A magnificent beast,young and male and weighing at least seven hundredpounds. It was moving at a slow rippling trot—until, scent­ing us, it suddenly stopped in its tracks, dropped its greathead and let out a blood-chilling roar.

And everything seemed to happen at once. Farmanaimed the pistol—from the house behind us came a harsh shout in Morbius' voice, "Don't shoot!"—Altaira wheeledaround and ran toward the great cat, calling to us, "It'sall right—it's all right!"

Farman rammed the D-R back into his holster. "ForChrist's sake!" he said. "Look at that!"

The tiger had come out of its menacing crouch as Altairawalked up to it. Now it was siting down and batting at herplayfully with a huge forepaw. She began to fondle it, pull­ing at its ears, and it rested its great head against her.

I glanced back at the house and saw Morbius and Adams framed in an open window. Morbius called, "Altaira—youhad better come in now," and the girl waved assent, with aword and a gesture sending the tiger off tame as any house-cat. ..

We went to meet her as she came toward us. The breezeruffled her hair and pressed the clinging fabric of her dressstill closer against her. Beside me, I heard Farman catchhis breath.

She said, "You see? Khan is really my best friend. Ishould have told you about him first." Her eyes widened,horrified. "Would you really have killed him—"

Farman's interruption was beautifully timed. "Not un­less I'd seenyou were in danger," he said. His profile was ruggedly masculine, his jaw protruding just enough.

She gave him a glance—and I was really worried for thefirst time. He was doing too well.

I put in an oar. I said to the girl, "I was fascinated byall your animals," and—maybe a trifle reluctantly—sheturned to look at me.

I said, "What I can't understand is finding even one typeof Earth animal here. Let alone three. . ."

We were walking toward the house, and Farman wentaround to her other side, leaving her between us. I didn'tthink she was going to answer me, so I went right on. "Arethere any others?" I said—and she gave me an odd, puzzled little frown.

"I—I don't know," she said. "Here—" she made a little gesture—"there are only the ones you've seen. . . When Iwas a very little girl I—I don't think they were here. Butthen—well, they just came. . ."

We were on the patio now—and she suddenly ran aheadof us and opened the big door. Farman was only a step be­hind her, and I tailed them into the living room. I couldhear Adams' voice before I could see him. There was some­thing odd about its inflections, and in front of me Altairastopped suddenly, surprised.

I went further into the room—and saw Morbius andAdams still by the open window. Adams was sitting on thearm of a chair and in his hand was the A-V projector fromhis belt.

He was in contact with the ship. He stopped talking justas I saw him, and moved the glittering little cylinder aroundand about so that its eye could pick up our surroundings.I had a mental picture of Lonnie Quinn in front of the bigscreen, with as many of the crew as weren't on duty crowd­ing behind him to watch.

Adams moved the tiny projector near his mouth. "Thereyou are," he said. "You can see we're all right?"

Quinn's voice came over, fault and metallic but com­pletely audible. It said, "So it seems, Skipper," on a sur­prised note. It occurred to me that Adams—whether pur­posely or not—hadn't swung the viewer to include Altaira.

Adams said, "The situation here makes it desirable Ishould get audio communication with Base. . ." The pomp­ous wording made me realize how careful he was being.

There was a pause. I could imagine the look on Quinn'sface. "But, Skipper," came his tinny voice, "we're notequipped—"

"I know—I know." Adams cut him short. "What I wantto find out—could you rig something?"

Another pause, not quite so long this time. Then the an­swer, "I could try." The time-honored reply of all DevisorsI've ever known to the time-honored challenge, "Couldn'tyou rig it?"

Adams waited; he knew his man. And after a momentLonnie's voice went on, "It'd mean taking out one of thecores, and immobilizing the ship while it was out. You re­alize that?"

"So?" said Adams—and then was besieged by a floodof technicalities. Out of my depth, I glanced at Morbius,and saw he was listening with a faint smile of complete,even condescending, comprehension. I looked around forFarman, and found that he and Altaira were at the otherside of the room, deep in talk. Or Farman was deep in talkand the girl over ears in listening.

"Right," said Adams. "Good man, Lon. We'll be backpretty soon." He switched off and thrust the cylinder backinto his belt. He looked at Morbius and said, "You heardall that, Doctor. He'll rig a transmitter. Or try to."

"Yes," said Morbius. "Yes. . . Did he give any estimateof how long the work would take?"

Adams shook his head. "He never will. My guess would be a week—or more." His manner, like Morbius', showedthat they weren't at each other's throats any more. I won­dered why.

Morbius looked at me. "Major Ostrow seems a triflebewildered," he said. "As well he might. . . We are at astrange impasse here, Major. The Commander feels it hisduty to—ah—rescue me. However, I have no desire to be 'rescued.' I would in fact consider any attempt to removeme and mine from this planet as being forcible abduction."

His tone was deliberately light, but there was no doubtof his absolute sincerity. He went on looking at me. Hesaid, "I'm sureyou will understand me, Doctor. You haveseen my house—its surroundings—the way of life I havemade here. Can you imagine any man in his senses willinglyleaving all this for the stress and hurly-burly of that tired little planet Earth?"

Adams said, "I work under orders. We'll have to waitand see."

Morbius said, "Exactly," but went on looking at me.

I didn't want to say it, but it came out. I said, "If it wasjust a question of yourself, Doctor Morbius—" and left it atthat.

His smile went. He glanced at the other side of the room,and frowned. He raised his voice and said, "Altaira!"sharply.

The girl looked around, then crossed to him, Farmannot far behind. I don't know what Morbius was going tosay to her—but Adams fortunately stopped it. He stoodup and said, "We'll be going now, Doctor," and looked at me and Farman. He didn't look at the girl. He behaved, infact, as if she weren't there—and she was staring at himwith a little frown.

"Well, if you must, Commander—" Morbius showednothing except civility. "I will send for Robby."

He did nothing, said nothing else. But within seconds adoor at the far side opened and the Robot marched in. I realized then that the more one saw the thing, the greaterits resemblance to a man seemed to become. And as itstrode up to its master and halted in front of him, the elu­ sive memory which had been haunting me about the word Robot suddenly wasn't elusive any more.

"Rossum's Universal Robots!" I said, without knowingI was speaking until I realized everybody was looking at me.I said, "Sorry. I just remembered something." I felt like afool but Morbius seemed genuinely interested.

"What made you say that?" he asked.

"An old book I remember reading," I said. "A play, Ithink it was. Written three or four centuries ago. By a mancalled—was it Carroll? There was a Foreword that said theauthor invented the word Robot—"

"Quite right, Major." Morbius nodded. "Except for the author's name. It was Capek—Karel Capek. And the playwas titled R.U.R. And Capek did invent the word: it hasno other derivation than from his mind. It passed into thelanguage as meaning a machine to do man's work long be­fore any such device had been invented. Now the word isused by all humanity—but how many of them ever heardof its inventor?"

It was odd; I found myself suddenly liking the man. Wanting to talk more with him. Having more feeling of—of compatibility than I'd ever had from any of the boyswho were my companions. I said, "They call those times—Capek's times—the Second Dark Ages. But there were somegreat minds then."

"Especially among the writers," Morbius said. "Thinkof Herbert George Wells. Then go farther back into themists and remember the Gallician Verne—"

He stopped abruptly, turning his head to look at hisdaughter. We'd drawn aside as we were talking and Altairaand my two shipmates were near the open window. Thegirl was looking at Adams, not at Farman beside her, and again I noticed the difference in her expression. She wassaying, ". . . So you weren't afraid when you saw Khan? Is that what you mean, Commander?" There was a note of defiance, of challenge in her voice.

Adams said, "I figured it was just another of yourfriends." He was looking at her, but from his expression—or lack of it—he might as well have been looking at a chair.

Morbius said, "All the same, Commander, you had yourhand on the butt of your pistol when I shouted to the Lieu­tenant." He laughed—a laugh which wasn't quite right. He stopped laughing. "But I should tell you that, except whereAltaira is concerned, that beast is a savage and dangerous animal." His tone was level, factual.

Farman said, "But how do you know it won't be dan­gerous to Alt—to your daughter sometime? Any time?" Hegave Altaira a troubled glance which she didn't miss.

She said, "Khan is my friend. He would never hurt me."

Morbius said, "Come now, Lieutenant! You saw howtame the beast was with her. She has perfect control ofit—"

Farman said, "I know, sir." He was buttering Fathernow. "But it's just—well, I can't help wondering if any­thing might go wrong. Treacherous brutes, cats."

Here was my chance to ask Morbius about the animals and their history. But before I could open my mouth, Far­man was off again, talking to Altaira now.

"It's wonderful how you handle the brute." He was allwide-eyed admiration. "How did you start? What's thesecret?"

"The old Unicorn routine, maybe." I heard myself say it—and wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

Because Morbius shot me a look. He didn't seem angry,but he understood what I meant. Which is more than anyof the others did. I thought he was going to speak, and was wholeheartedly grateful when Adams cut in," Sorry, Doc­tor, but we must be on our way. . . Come on, Doc—Jerry."

Then Morbius said something to the Robot, and it wentto the entrance and opened the door. We made our goodbyes and started out, only to find that Morbius was with us still, speeding the parting guests. By his manner, we mighthave been afternoon callers in any Earth city suburb.

We took our seats in the vehicle, and the Robot climbedup in front and became part of the thing. Farman grinned and said to Morbius, "Tell him easy on the acceleration, sir," and Morbius laughed and gave the Robot orders, sounding as if the thing were some old family retainer.

It was all very easy and matter-of-fact—and all the morepreposterous for that. Adams said, "We'll be seeing youagain soon, Doctor," and Morbius said, 'The sooner thebetter," and had a special word for me. "Please don't lose any opportunity to visit us, Major Ostrow. To tell you thetruth, I still miss the conversation of such kindred spirits asyourself. . ."

He didn't give me time to answer, but stood back andsaid, "All right, Robby," and we started, this time at adecorous thirty-five.

Adams sat staring straight ahead, but Farman and I turned to look back. Morbius was standing where we'dleft him, at the edge of the patio, shading his eyes with ahand as he looked after us. In the open window Altairawas framed. Farman stood up and waved to her, and sheraised an answering hand.

"For God's sake!" Adams growled. "Siddown!"

And then we were around the curve in the track, headingfor the grove of strange trees again. And the figures andthe house had disappeared.

Our speed increased smoothly. We whirled through thegrove and up the slope the other side, making for the wallof rock and its doorway to the red desert.

I looked at Farman. He was leaning back in his seat, hisarms folded, his eyes half-closed.

I looked at Adams. He was sitting just as he had beenat first, staring straight ahead with eyes that saw nothing. He was lost in his thoughts, and I wondered exactly whatthey were—

THREE

Commander J. J. Adams

I had plenty to think about. And I mean plenty! On thetrip back from that damn house in the rock, I tried to straighten it out in my head.

It all came down to figuring Morbius right. And thatwas easier said than done. I wished it wasn't my job. Iwished I could change places—and responsibilities—withJerry Farman. Or Doc. All Jerry was thinking about rightthen, all he had to think about, could be covered by onevery short word. And Doc was just as lucky, maybe luckier.Doc was probably worrying about who wrote some oldbook, or how Earth-type animals came to be on Altair-4.

But me, I had Morbius! The man who'd warned us tostay away from the planet if we knew what was healthyfor us. The man who didn't tell us till he had to that he wasthe only survivor of his expedition. The man who'd given a pretty wild explanation about how the others died andwhat had happened to their ship.

An off-beam fish. With plenty about him I didn't like. Particularly the feeling he gave out that he thought he wasworth two of anybody else. And that's to say nothing of hisdaughter. There was another headache. Pity the poor Skip­per—with a piece of brig-bait like that around, and twentysex-deprived Space-dogs with their tongues hanging out. . .

But I had to forget about her. I had to concentrate onthe Hundred Credit Question: How come this Philologisthad turned himself into a practical scientist? And a Tech genius way ahead of all the Techs on Earth and anywhereelse we knew of? So his Robot did most of the work. Sohe made the Robot, the most incredible job of the lot, firstof all!

Leaving the little matter of knowledge aside, how had hegotten the tools? And the materials?

And why had he said there was 'only one essential tool—the mind'? Did he think it made sense? Did he believeit made sense?

And did it?

I knew what I thought was the answer. On the trip backI was just checking with myself. But the check made no difference. I felt the same way only more so.

I told Doc and Jerry and Lonnie Quinn after dinner. We stayed at the table and I sent the Mess orderly away andmade sure there wasn't anyone in earshot. Quinn wantedto go right back to work, but I wouldn't let him. I wantedan all-Officer conference.

First, I briefed him on the set-up. I asked Doc and Jerryto check if I left anything out or gave any wrong impres­sions. But I must have done all right, because neither ofthem said anything when I'd finished.

Quinn stared at me through his big glasses. The firstthing he said was, "This girl—what's she like?"

Quinn. Alonzo Quinn. He said that. It was proof, if I'dneeded it, of what a year in deep Space would do, even toa woman-shirker like my Chief Devisor. ..

I said, "Oh, just a girl. Somewhere in her teens. She'snever known anybody except her father. Seems a triflearrested maybe." I didn't look at Jerry or Doc while I saidit.

I went right on. "Morbius is the problem," and gavethem a precis of what I thought about him. I said, "It makes no sense he could turn himself into a Tech genius overnightand produce a job like that Robot." I looked at Quinn andhe shook his head.

"It's impossible," he said. "Even from what I saw of thething. Impossible!"

That brought me right down to the point. "So," I said,"he was lying when he said there was no intelligent life onthis planet. There has to be—"

Doc cut in on me. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Some­how the man didn't strike me as a liar."

I said, "He's got to be, Goddamn it!" Doc surprised me.Usually, I thought a lot of his judgment, but he was way offthis time. "Can't you get it? Someone, something, has got tobe supplying him tools and material."

"And knowledge," Quinn said. "And knowledge."

"That's right," said Jerry Farman. He was trying to lookinterested, but not making a very good job of it. There wasthat other subject filling his head.

I said, "Of course it's right," and looked at Doc.

"Ye-es," he said slowly. "It's logical, I suppose. . ."

"It's inevitable too." I pushed on. "So there is intelligentlife here. And Morbius is in touch with it. Close touch."

I had 'em all hooked now, even Jerry. I said, "Either he'sfriends with it, or it's bossing him. Either he doesn't want to tell us about it, or it won't let him."

Jerry Farman said, "My guess is he's friendly. I'd bet ayear's pay he was on the level when he said he didn't wantto be taken away."

Doc said, "Skipper, why did you push him so hard atfirst, and then ease up all of a sudden?" He looked worried.

"Technique," I said. "Scare 'em, but not too much.Might bring things to a head."

Lonnie said, "We ought to get in touch with this—thisIntelligence. Obviously, we could learn a great deal."

Doc lifted one eyebrow that way he has. "Don't forgetwhat happened to the rest of the Bellerophon people."

Lonnie said, "How did Morbius react, Skipper, whenyou told him we were going to try and get through to Base?"

I looked at the other two. Jerry shrugged, and Doc said,"He didn't show anything, one way or the other."

I said, "So it's an odd situation. I have to try and getorders to deal with it. But if we do get through to Base, Ican guess what the orders'll be. 'Find out more if you can.Bring him home whether you can or not.' "

Jerry whistled. "If he's not kidding about that 'Force'that killed all his pals, we might be in for bad trouble when we try and take him away."

Lonnie said, "We may be in trouble anyway, I shouldimagine. If you can guess those orders. Skipper, so canMorbius." He blinked at me through his big glasses. "Itoccurs to me that somebody—maybe I should say some­thing—may not like us rigging up the transmitter." Heblinked again. "It also occurs to me to ask why you hadto let Morbius know what you were going to do."

That was Alonzo Quinn all over. Right to the point be­fore anyone else. I grinned at him. "Technique again. Mightflush something into the open."

Lonnie just nodded. But Doc said, "Asking for trouble,aren't you?"

I said, "It's the only way I can figure to find out whatactivates around here. And when I know that I might wantto talk to Base anyway. And this way we'll at least be ready for anything that happens. Which reminds me—" I lookedaround at the three of them. "As from now, we're on Oc­cupation Alert—and don't forget it. . ."

And that wound it up for the day. I had sentries out al­ready, and all I had to do was send for the Bosun and tellhim the O.A, was on. Lonnie Quinn went back to workwith his hand-picked helpers—and Jerry said as he was onthe third watch he was going to his hutch and grab somerest.

Doc looked after him and shook his head. He said, "Tosleep, perchance to dream," in the way that makes youknow he's quoting from something a thousand years old.

I said, "You mean about that girl?" and he said, "Whatelse?" and then he said, "You sound as if she worried you,Skipper," and I said, "You're damn right she worries me.This whole set-up's off-beam enough, without throwing ina piece of brig-bait to make it all more difficult." I wishedhe'd talk about something else.

But he said, "I suppose you're hoping the crew won'tever find out she's here." He was fiddling with a cigarette,not looking at me.

"They won't if I know anything about it," I said. "Lon­nie won't talk. I tipped him not to. And Jerry won't openhis trap. Not while there's a chance he could make his time with her."

Doc pulled the ignitor cap off the cigarette and startedto smoke. He said, "Are you going to let him?"

"Christ, no!" I said. "That's not the sort of trouble I'masking for." I was getting too loud and cut it down. "Be­sides, think of General Orders. Section IV, para. 22." Imanaged a grin.

Doc said, "Good!" and went on smoking and didn't sayanything else.

We had a drink. When we'd finished it was time I went the round of the sentries. I asked Doc whether he'd like awalk and he said okay.

I'd set five posts, and each one had nothing to report. The men were all on their toes, A good bunch.

Instead of going right back to the ship, Doc and I struckout a bit into the desert. I didn't feel like bed and he didn'teither. We didn't go far—just to a bunch of the sharp rocksthat pushed up out of the sand. Doc said they looked likestalagmites. We found a ledge at the bottom of one and saton it and had a cigarette. There were two green moons in the sky and the light from them made the red sand lookalmost black. All around. As far as a man could see. Blacksand and sick-blue rocks. Green moons. And the ship onher ass there like a toadstool that didn't belong.

I took in a deep breath and Doc said, "Yes. Wonderfulair, isn't it?"

I said, "The air's okay. But you can have the view."

He shifted around to look at me. "I was just thinking Icould easily like this world—perhaps want to live in it,like Morbius."

I said, "Maybe I've got too much on my mind—"

"They give you boys a lot of responsibility." He wastalking slowly, the way he does sometimes. "Too much, I should say." He went on looking at me. "They seem to ig­nore—well, some of the most important human factors. . ."

I wasn't sure I knew what he was talking about. But I letit ride. You never know with Doc, but he always meanssomething.

I dropped my cigarette on the sand and watched theglow die away. There was something I wanted to ask Doc,but I wasn't going to. It didn't matter any more than amatchstick in Space.

So it came out after all. I said, "What was that crackabout a Unicorn?"

He didn't say anything right away, but I could feel himlook at me again. I thought he didn't remember. I said,"When Jerry said that about the tiger. About the controlshe had over it—"

"I know," Doc said. "I can quote myself. I said, 'The oldUnicorn routine'. And I wished I hadn't."

"What the hell did you mean?"

He said, "The Unicorn, as you may or may not know,was a beast of fable—"

"Like a horse?" I said. "A white horse—with a horncoming out of its forehead?"

He nodded. "The legend was that only one sort of hu­man could ever catch or tame one. That was a woman—and not just any woman. She had to be young—and avirgin. . . She would go to a place—in a forest it always was—where the Unicorn might be. She would sit down,and wait. That was all she had to do. And presently,through the trees, the Unicorn would come treading deli­cately, full of fear but irresistibly drawn. The girl mustn't move, just sit and wait. . . The Unicorn—ears pricked,nostrils flaring—would advance, slower and slower... Andthe girl would still sit motionless. . . And the forest wouldbe silent, no bird singing, no woods creature stirring. There would be no sound except the rustle of the Unicorn's hoofsin the carpet of leaves as it drew so close that its shadow came between the girl and the sun rays which filteredthrough the branches. . . So close that when it knelt before her, its whole lovely gleaming body a-tremble, it could layits beautiful horned head upon her lap. . ."

Doc's voice sort of died away. He went on looking downat the sand. Something about the goddamn fairy tale got me. Or maybe it was the way he'd told it. Or his tone orsomething. Anyway, I had a lump in my throat as big as agyro-gear. It made me mad. I said, "So you were going allaround the galaxy to say she was virgo, huh? She's got to be, hasn't she? Unless—ah, the hell with it!"

"Of course she's a virgin, John." It was the first timeDoc ever called me anything but Skipper. He said, "It was just something that popped into my head. I said it withoutthinking. I didn't mean anything. And it wasn't a very goodanalogy either..."

"Why did you wish you hadn't said it?"

"Because I thought maybe Morbius would get the ref­erence. He—well, he mightn't have liked it."

That made sense. I said it did, and pulled out cigarettes.We both lighted up and sat there. Smoking and not sayinganything. Until Doc said, out of the blue, "The way youwere looking at the girl, she must have thought you hated the sight of her." He said it as if he was just talking.

I said, "Well, she looked like trouble. Especially withJerry Farman around."

Doc said, "Maybe she thought you were trouble too.She seemed as if she did. They way those grey eyes of hersshot sparks at you—"

I said, "They're blue—" and tried to cut the words off asthey were coming out.

But it didn't work. Doc started to laugh. ..

II

Nothing happened all the next day. I mean nothing out­side what we were doing ourselves. Nothing to show thatanyone or anything cared what we were at. Before hestarted work on the transmitter, Lonnie set up a roughradar screen and left one of the Cadets to run it. And heshowed Jerry how to work his radio searcher, so we couldtry and locate Morbius' station.

And nothing happened. Or even looked like happening.I wandered in and out of the ship, making sure everyone was on the job. I felt like hell. I hate waiting. Especiallywhen you don't know what you're waiting for.

Radar showed nothing. Jerry couldn't get anything onhis radio search. There was just the ship. And us. And thered desert and the rocks. We might have been alone on thegoddamn planet.

Lonnie and his boys got the auxiliary core free at last.A nasty job, but none of 'em got burned. We all had to lenda hand to get the thing safely out to the temporary rig he'dset up.

That was in the middle of the afternoon. When the jobwas done and all hands were back at their posts I had tostart waiting again. I wandered over to the tractor. It wasstill where Lonnie and the boys had left it yesterday whenthey unshipped it. I checked it over. Everything was all right, but I had the notion I'd take it for a test run. Some­thing to do.

I was climbing aboard it when I saw Doc. For the first time since breakfast. The rest of the day, he'd been in hissurgery. Checking those med supplies, I suppose. I wasn'ttoo happy to see him. I figured he might start on the topic we'd been on last night, and I was having enough troubletrying to keep my mind off it.

But when he wanted to come for a ride I couldn't tell him no. I did call him, though, for not wearing his D-Rgun when we were on O.A. In no uncertain terms. I madehim go back and get it.

We didn't go for the test ride anyway. Because, just whenDoc came running back, Lonnie sent a hand over with amessage for me to go talk to him.

I went over to the rig at the double. Lonnie was scratching his head, looking worried. He was sweating and cov­ered with black grease. He said, "We're in trouble abouthousing for this thing, Skipper. I don't know how I'm goingto find anything with the right density."

It was then I had my big idea. I asked what he'd orderif he was at a Base depot. He said, "Two-inch lead shield­ing. Three hundred square feet of it." He looked at me as ifI was wasting his time.

I said, "Any other work on this you could be getting onwith?" His glasses slipped on his nose and he pushed themback. Now he was sure I was crazy. But he said yes therewas.

I said, "Get on with it then!" and took Doc away. I said,"Better get slicked up, Doc. We're going visiting," and took him back to the ship. I could feel him looking at me, but Ididn't give him a chance to say anything.

When we got to Control Area, Doc went on to his hutch,and I told Jerry to quit the radio search and slick up too.I didn't want to take him but I had to. I needed three of us at least, and I couldn't spare anyone else.

When Jerry found out where we were going, you could'veseen his grin a mile away. He was making off like a jetfrom a mother ship when I stopped him. I said. "Hold it.Something you'd better remember. Lay off the girl."

He said, "Sure. Sure, Skipper." He might as well havegiven me a blast from a stand-clear siren.

III

We started at the tail end of the afternoon. Jerry drove,and made good time. The light hadn't quite gone when wegot through the rocks and turned down into the valley. I told Jerry to slow up and we crawled the rest of the way at about ten terra m.p.h.

This time I really studied the country, and told Doc tokeep his eyes open too. I didn't know what we were lookingfor, I said, but anything we'd missed would do. Particularlyanything which gave any sign there wasany other form oflife than we'd seen already.

It was all pretty vague. And got us nowhere, as expected.We were going into the grove of trees near the house in therock when Doc finally broke. I hadn't told him or Jerry myidea, but they knew something was cooking. Jerry didn'tcare, so long as he saw the girl again. But Doc couldn'tstand it. He said suddenly, "What's behind this trip, Skip­per. Better tell us, or we might make mistakes."

He was right. So I told them.

"Good thought!" Doc said. "It may not get anywhere, ofcourse. But it's well worth a try."

Jerry didn't say anything; just nodded.

We came out of the grove and started on the curve tothe rock. We hadn't seen so much as the tail of one ofAltaira's animals. But when we came around to the house-front, there was Morbius. On the patio. Waiting.

Jerry pulled up and cut the engine. Which is a silent Q6type. Except for some radar-principle gear somewhere,there didn't seem any way for him to have known we werecoming. But he seemed to be expecting us, no mistakeabout it.

We piled out and he came to meet us. He wore the same sort of clothes as yesterday, but these were grey instead of blue. He looked a lot older, some way. He was white in theface, with black circles under his eyes.

He said he was glad to see us. He didn't have the supe­rior smile that had made me so mad. I said I wanted helpand maybe he could give it to me. He said he'd be only tooglad, but we must come in the house before we got down tobusiness.

We trooped in. There was no sign of the Robot. Or ofAltaira. I said, "Here's the problem, Doctor. My ChiefDevisor needs a housing for the transmitter rig. It should be two-inch lead sheeting. We don't have any—" I wastrying to keep it all matter-of-fact—"and I thought pos­sibly you could come to the rescue with three hundredsquare feet of it."

He did smile then. He said, "So you believe what I toldyou yesterday, Commander? You want me to—ah—utilize Robby's talents on your behalf?"

I tried to look puzzled. "Why shouldn't I believe you,sir?" I pulled out a scrap of lead I'd brought from Lonnie's workshop. "I know a specimen's needed. Will this do?"

He took the piece of metal, but didn't look at it. He wenton looking at me. He said, "I'm sure it will, Commander,"and began to ask questions about how Lonnie was working.

I told him what I'd been told. That it was a question ofcrude power; of how to short-circuit the continuum on asix parsec level; of temporarily cannibalizing half the electronic gear we had; of getting the auxiliary core out of theship to supply enough juice.

He seemed to understand it all, which was more than Idid. He asked a couple of questions which I said I'd haveto relay to Lonnie. . . He thought for a minute and thensaid, "Very well, Commander, I'll put Robby to work to­night. You should have your shielding early tomorrow."

So we were through phase one.

I wanted to get to the second right away. But I heard aquick movement, and looked around to see Jerry half wayto the entrance and Doc just getting out of his chair.

Altaira was in the archway. She had on a sort of golden-yellow dress with some blue around somewhere. It wasn'tvery low at the neck, and I think it had long sleeves. So itoughtn't to have been any more dangerous than the oneshe'd worn yesterday, which was lowish and hadn't anysleeves at all.

It oughtn't to have been—but it was. Maybe it was thecolor. Maybe it was the way the material clung. Not that itlooked as if it was meant to cling. One look at her, andyou knew it wasn't.

I could sense the jolt it must be giving Jerry. And thatmade me mad. Mad at him. Mad at everything and every­body. Even mad at her.

So I didn't get to smile at her the way I'd meant to. Shesaid something about being glad to see us, but the way shelooked, that wasn't meant to include J. J. Adams. . .

So I went back to Morbius and phase two. I got him on one side and asked whether I could watch Robby at work.

As expected, I got no place. Very fast. For a moment he looked the way he had yesterday, mad and superior at thesame tune. He said, "Quite impossible," and I thought he was going to leave it at that. But then he gave me a cal­culating sort of look and deliberately lost some altitude. Hesaid, "I'm afraid it wouldn't be feasible, Commander. EvenI myself can't be in Robby's workshop," and sprayed a messof technicalities at me about temperatures and radiationand a couple of things I'd never heard of.

I said I quite understood and all that mattered was gettingthe lead as quickly as possible. It seemed to go down allright. If he was thinking things about me, they didn't show,anyway.

IV

That was a hell of an evening. It all worked out theright way, but getting through it was another story. Wewere in the house over five hours but they felt like days tome. Right away we were asked to stay for dinner. Which was a good thing for phase three of my campaign, but otherwise not so hot. I don't carry much blast as an actor, but that's what I had to be. Watching Jerry with one eye, Morbius with the other, being social all the time. Doc wasa help with Jerry, but all the same I couldn't leave it all to him. Astrogator Premier Class Lieutenant Gerald Farman is one smooth operator. I wished things were different. Things Like Altaira. Maybe I wouldn't have been fightingnot to get mad all the time. I didn't understand my own feelings, and that was no help. I kept trying to be civil toher, at least—but every tune I'd try she'd either be doing something else or Jerry would be making at her in somenew way.

I couldn't figure her. Most of the time, it didn't seempossible she'd never seen any human except her father.She was so—so poised. But then she'd suddenly say some­thing, or react to something in a way that showed it mustbe true. I don't mean she seemed childish. Quite the reverse;she knew a lot more than most girls of her age would athome. She was just—I don't know. Doc could probablyhave put it in the right words but not me. Honest kept pop­ping up in my head, but I guess it didn't cover what I meant. She didn't seem to know about any—well, subterfuge mighthit it...

There was one time at dinner. She'd just said one of those things—asked some question or something—and she caughtme looking at her. Her face sort of froze, and she said,"You mustn't forget, Commander Adams, that socially I'man infant."

It wasn't only the words. It was the way she said them.And the look that went with them. All I wanted was an air­lock to open and pull me through.Jerry looked as if he was trying not to smirk. Morbiuslooked as if he hadn't heard. But good old Doc camethrough. He didn't look as if anything had happened; andsomehow he switched the talk. Without any effort. All verynatural. He got onto the zoo again, and popped a question at Morbius. Another of those Hundred Credit kinds. Howcome those terra-type animals were on Altair-4?

It was funny the way that threw Morbius. Threw him a lot harder than I had, asking if I could watch Robby. He didn't look mad and hit his altimeter the way he had withme. But he did something that seemed a lot more off-beam.He looked—well embarrassed. He looked more than that,he looked scared.

But it was only for a split second, and then he was backon base. He said, "That, Major, is one of the mysterieswhich I hope to solve. One of these days." He looked as if he'd like to leave it there, but Doc began pushing. Were the animals we'd seen the only kinds? Were there any more ofthem? Didn't their existence show that Altair-4 must havegone through a similar evolutionary process to Earth's?And wasn't it extraordinary how the protective colorationscheme had lost its bearings, with all the animals in theterra colors instead of having adapted along Altairian lines?

By this time I was plenty interested in myself, but Mor­bius dug in brake-prongs. He said, "As a matter of fact,Major Ostrow, you have raised the very question uponwhich I am now working. My researches, however, are not complete." The way he sounded, he might as well have toldDoc to shut up and the hell with him.

I kicked Doc on the ankle. So he shut up and we hit thesocial note again. Dinner was over anyway, and before youcould say quanto gravitum we were all away from the tableand making with the small talk.

I would have liked to get off right then. But Morbiusmight have wondered why the hurry. So we had to put insome time. I had the dirty end of it, too. Because Morbiusand Doc went over to a comer to play chess, and Altaira showed me and Jerry a game she and her father had in­vented. At least, she showed Jerry, and I was along. It was a game for two, so I said I'd kibitz, and then killed time byswinging between them and the other two.

It was grim. But it dragged itself through some way, and I got ready to take off just in time to kill Jerry's notion thathe and Altaira were going out to see the animals by moon­ light, for God's sake! Morbius warmed right up again; saidhe was glad we'd come; told me not to worry about the leadsheeting, he'd have Robby bring it out to the ship in the morning. He came out to see us off...

This time I drove, I went off at a good clip, and kept it upuntil we were out of the trees and a good terra mile up theslope to the desert. Then I slowed and found the place I'dpicked out on the way. Just off the track, behind a group ofodd-looking trees.

I cut the engine and slid in. When we got out and lookedback, you could hardly see the tractor. And that was fromonly a few feet. It was the best we could do, anyway. I kept thinking of the way he'd seemed to know we were arriving.But I had to take a chance. If hewas doing anything like aradar-scan, it mightn't show us. And unless he'd used it aswe went away, he'd never spot the tractor.

We walked, to the other edge of the track and lookeddown at the valley. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Witha sort of no-sound feeling you never get back home. If youdid, you'd think the end of the world had come. ..

But the goddamn green moonlight showed everything I wanted. I picked a couple of spots, then briefed the guysproperly. I said, "The idea's to watch. And keep watching.Don't move from your spots, but if you see anything re­member it. All of it." We compared watches; it was twenty-three hundred. I said, "Okay. Rondy back here at zerothree and thirty. We'd better be gone by dawn. Any ques­tions?"

Doc didn't have any. But Jerry made up. He hadn't reallybeen listening when I'd explained on the way. So I had togo over it, after I'd called him.

I said, "For Christ's sake get it this time. Morbius sayshe's going to have the Robot run off three hundred squarefeet of two-inch lead sheeting tonight. And let us have it inthe morning. I'll bet a year's pay he'll deliver all right. ButI'll lay five to one the Robot's not going to turn it out. Notfrom his goddamn belly or his goddamn lab which nobody can get into to watch—"

Jerry cut in. He was sore at the way I was talking. He said, "No need to make like I was a moron. You figure Morbius'll be in touch with these Altarian pals you're sosure he's got, and they'll fix it? And you figure we'll seesomething cooking after he's gotten in touch with 'em?Either them coming to him, or him going to them? Right?"

I said, "Sure. That's the way it has to be. Unless you be­lieve the Robot story."

Jerry said, "Yeah. Guess you're right."

Doc said, "Suppose they have some way of getting intouch inside the rock?"

Now I got mad. We were all pretty touchy. I said, "Thenthey're gremlins and we don't get to see 'em. So we've lost a couple of hours sleep, for Christ sake!"

Doc said, "All right, Skipper," the way he might talk to a kid. I was going to call him about it when there was anoise from the trees behind us, near the tractor. The waywe all whipped around must've been something to see. Jerryand I had guns out. Even Doc was pulling at his.

It was only one of the goddamn monkeys. Doc said after­wards it was the titi. It dropped down onto the track andsquattered away, looking back at us over its shoulder.

I shoved my D-R back in the holster and turned aroundagain and showed the guys where I wanted them, Doc first. He had about half a mile to go, straight down into the val­ley to a patch of stuff near the river that looked like willows.From there, I figured he could watch the whole back of therock-shoulder. I sent him off right away. I said, "Remember—just watch. If you get in trouble, fire three bursts from your D-R. But I mean real trouble! Don't poop off at me if I show. You guys're on fixed points, I'm going to rove."

He just nodded, and started off. Good old Doc. For aminute I couldn't help wondering how many other Meds I'd give a job like this to. Then Jerry said, "What aboutme?" and I told him, right back down the track to thegrove. Then into the trees to a place he could see the house-front from. And the same orders as Doc's.

He grinned at me. "How's the tiger count?" he said."Real trouble?"

I had to grin back. There was something about him any­way. I said, "Hell, no! Give it a lump of sugar. Scratch itsears."

He said, "Hypnotize it, huh?" and started off. I watchedhow he kept in any shadow there was. And you couldn't'veheard him with an auriscope. Good man to have with youon this sort of layout.

I waited till I couldn't see any sign of him or Doc. ThenI waited some more, till I was sure they must be on post.Then I went back to the trees by the tractor and shinniedup the smallest. I found a bough near the top and stood onit and took a good look down into the valley.

And saw just nothing except what I knew was there allthe time. Nothing moved. Not even any leaves. The air was so full of oxygen you felt all the time there must be a sea-breeze or something. But there wasn't. There wasn't anymore movement than there was sound.

The silence began to get me. I slid down off the tree. Ihad to do something, move somewhere. I cut down into thevalley, striking for the rock-shoulder first. Until I hit theriver. Then I cut around and made for Doc. Or where heought to be.

He was there all right. He hadn't see anything. "Or hearda sound," he said. "Not until your voice." And then he said, "It's too quiet. It—it's all dead!"

"We aren't," I told him. "Take it easy." And I struckback across to the track, keeping my eyes open. I didn't seeanything.

Those two sonofabitch moons. With their green lightmaking everything look like copper with verdigris on it.And Doc saying, "It's all dead!"

I didn't like any of it. The longer I went on, the less Iliked it. I used to think Venus was pretty damn bad, but I'dhave swapped this for a first-grade Venusian jungle-bathany day. And thrown something into the trade.

I cut down the track to the grove. My watch showed fiveminutes of zero one. I figured I'd find Jerry and check andmaybe stay out the other two hours on this side. If there wasgoing to be anything to see, the front was the most likelyplace.

I wound through the trees, keeping off the track and inthe shadows. The earth was soft under my boots. Therewere no fallen leaves, no twigs. Nothing except the earth. I didn't make a sound. Like everything else.

I heard Jerry before I saw him. His voice. It wasn't loud, and it wasn't particularly close. I couldn't hear the words—only the intonation. Which should have told me what I wasgoing to find. But it didn't.

The voice stopped. But in the silence it sort of left a markin the air. I changed course and went after it, deeper intothe trees. I'd just caught sight of a little clearing ahead whenI heard another voice. Altaira's,..

I stopped as if I'd been shot with a nerve-lock. The firstthing I felt was surprise. When that wore off I was mad.

From all angles. So mad I couldn't see straight. I didn't know I was moving, but I found myself up near the lasttrees by the clearing. And still in the shadow. Still not mak­ing a sound.

I could see them. There was an outcrop of rock, withplants like ferns around it. They were by the rock. Jerry wasleaning against it. Altaira was in front of him. Very close. She had on a white wrap or a robe or something. It clunglike the dress, And it had a low neck and her arms werebare. Jerry's hand was on her waist as if he'd had his armaround her.

I don't rank myself high as a peeping Tom, but I didn'tmove. Maybe I was momentarily paralyzed with rage. May­be—oh, the hell with it!

She was saying, "No, I don't mind. I thought it was—quite pleasant." I couldn't see her face, but I could tell she was looking straight at him. Into his eyes. Her voice wasdeeper than ever. It sounded—I couldn't make out how it sounded. First I thought it was sort of calm. Then I thoughtmaybe that was only a cover.

Jerry said, "Pleasant!" as if he'd been insulted. He cameaway from the rock and both his arms went around her.

I didn't want to stand there. But it's God's truth I wasfrozen. I couldn't move. I couldn't open my mouth. He waskissing her. The way he was holding her it didn't look as if she'd be able to breathe. And she wasn't fighting him.

I made one hell of an effort and pushed myself awayfrom the tree. I don't know what I thought I was going todo. Maybe I was going to jump them. Maybe I was going to get the hell away. I don't know.

I must have turned away though. Because when I heardAltaira's voice again, I had to look around to see them. I don't know what she said. Maybe there weren't any words.But the sound was enough. She was half angry, half scared.And she was trying to pull away...

I could move now. I made a shuffling noise with my feetand marched out from the shadows into the clearing. As ifI'd just come up. I felt—God knows how I felt.

They stared at me. And I stared at them. Jerry dropped his hold, and Altaira stood back. I said, "Lieutenant Farman—" and it sounded as mad as I was feeling. I stoodwhere I was, and he came over. He wanted to carry it off some way but couldn't figure how. I didn't look at Altaira. She stayed by the rock. I looked at Jerry and dropped my voice so she couldn't hear any words. I said, "You fix this date earlier?" and he swore he hadn't. He was so surprised by the question I believed him. He started to tell me howhe'd seen something moving in the trees and then found itwas Altaira, but I cut him off. I said, "Makes no difference.You're on a D.D. 1 anyway." He tried to kick about thedereliction of duty, until I showed him he couldn't even seethe house-front from the clearing. Then he quit. I said, "Re­gard yourself as under arrest. Right now, go back to thetractor. Wait there till Doc and I get there."

I thought for a minute he was going to take a swing atme. I almost wished he would. But he pulled himself to­gether. He even saluted before he went off. I didn't watchhim go. I wanted to forget about him. Forget about whathe'd done tonight, I mean. And I wasn't any too happyabout my own feelings. The D.D. was real bad, of course.But it wasn't the only reason I was mad.

I looked across the clearing. Altaira was gone. I didn'tknow whether I liked that or not. I figured I'd better. Istarted off through the trees, on a line which ought to bringme to a point where I could see the house.

I'd only gone a few yards when I saw a flutter of whitein front of me. I stopped, and there was Altaira. She cameand stood dead in front of me. Her face was in shadow. Shesaid, very low, "What did you say to him? Where's hegone?"

I said, "Back to the tractor. To wait for me." I remem­bered I hadn't asked Jerry how he'd explained our beingaround two hours after we were supposed to have left. May­be he hadn't. Maybe the questions hadn't come up. I won­ dered if she'd tell Morbius. And how he'd act if she did. Itwas a bad mess all around.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something else. Ididn't, so she had to. I still couldn't see her face very well.She said, "What did you say to him? You were angry? Wasit because he wasn't looking for that equipment you lost?"

So Jerry had put up some sort of story. I said, "Yes. Hewas supposed to be on duty."

She said, "It—it wasn't his fault he was talking to me—"

I said, "Talking to you! Ha!" I was suddenly so mad Icouldn't control it.

She got mad too. She moved back a little, and I couldsee her face. She looked more beautiful than ever. "Don'ttalk to me like that!" she said. And then she went on, veryfast, "He said a lot of things and asked if he could kiss me. And I let him. And I liked it. I liked it, I tell you! Until—until—" She couldn't go on. She took a big breath. "Andanyway," she said, "what business of yours is it what I do?"

I said, "None. But what my officers or men do's anotherstory." She didn't say anything and I went on. I didn't want to. It just came out. I said, "There are definite orders aboutwomen. They were written by men who know the problem. Good God—what do you think would happen to disciplineif all these men were allowed to go around—" I pulled my­self up just in time—"were allowed to go around passing ateverything they saw that looked half-way female? It's tough enough with things like Martians! And when it gets to be good-looking human girls, walking around in clothes likeyours—"

She said, "Clothes! My clothes! What do you mean—"She was so mad now her eyes looked as if sparks were com­ing out of them.

I wanted to keep my mouth shut. But I couldn't. I said, "They're man-traps. Look at you now. Look at you thisevening—and yesterday! Either stay away from my crewor dress yourself decently—"

That was as far as I got. She came close fast, and I sawher right hand come up. I grabbed for the wrist and my fin­gers closed over her forearm...

And we stood there. Just like that, with her arms raisedand my fingers around it. We didn't seem able to move. Ididn't anyway—and she didn't even try to pull the armaway. It wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. It was asif some sort of current had been started when I touched her.Her skin felt soft and firm under my hand; cool on top and warm underneath. I could feel it all through me.

We just stood there. I think I said something. I don'tknow. There was a funny little sound from her throat andshe suddenly pulled her arms away. Her face crumpled like a child's and she started to cry. She whirled around and ranoff into the trees.

I stood staring after her. My ringers still tingled where they'd touched her.

V

It was zero three and thirty-seven when I got back to thetractor. I felt like hell, and tired too. I'd spent the past two hours and more lying on the ground on my belly staringthrough the trees at the house-front. And I'd seen what Iought to have expected to see all along. Nothing, and lots ofit.

Doc had been back about five minutes. He was leaning against the hood, smoking into his cupped hand. Jerry was up in the tractor, slumped in one of the jump seats at back. Doc said, "Nothing to report, Skipper. You have any luck?"I shook my head and we climbed aboard and he sat by mein front. I didn't look at Jerry and he didn't say anythingand I could feel Doc wondering.

I started the engine and let her rev and then backed outfrom under the trees. What with everything I must havebeen keyed sort of high. Anyway, I reversed much faster than I would normally, and as the rear wheels hit the trackI felt a soft little shudder along the steering. And somethinggave a high-pitched, squealing little shout. Like a kid that'sbeen hurt.

I leaned on. the brakes and cut the engine. Doc said,"What in God's name was that?" He jumped up, and Jerrysaid from the back, "There's something under the wheels."

I stood up, but Doc was over the side already, kneelingby a little heap on the ground. He said, "Poor little guy," and stood up with something in his arms. He said, "Onething—he didn't suffer."

It was the titi. Doc climbed in with it and put it down andcovered it with a piece of canvas. "Broken neck," he said,and sat beside me again.

So now I'd killed one of her friends. A great night!

FOUR

Commander J. J. Adams

Continued

Itwas zero eight and thirty-two the next morning when theCadet on radar duty screen buzzed me. At the same time,one of the sentries sighted something coming fast across thedesert.

It was Morbius' sled.

The Robot drove almost up to the ship. By the time the dust had settled it was off the thing and talking to me. Itcame right up to me at the bottom of the entry gangway.It said, "Good morning. Doctor Morbius' compliments.Shielding is here for you." It turned and pointed to the sledand I saw a whole mass of stuff was loaded on the back.

I had the damndest feeling the thing was an old friendor something. I said, "Thanks a lot, Robby," without think­ing this was a damn silly way to talk to a machine. I didn'treally think of the thing as It, either. I thought of it as He,lights and buzzing noises and all.

He said, "Where is material required?" I pointed to Lon­nie Quinn's rig and he turned and went to his chariot.

Everybody was watching him. Lonnie and his crew, thesentries, even the Bosun. And Doc came down the gangway and stood beside me.

Robby bent over the load and in a minute was comingback. On each stubby arm he had half a dozen huge squaresof metal. He plodded past us to the rig and Doc and Istrolled after him. Before I remembered, I expected him toask Quinn where to put the stuff. But he just stood there.There was only one light on behind the louvres.

Lonnie remembered, trust him! Lonnie said, "Robby—put it down here." He pointed.

Robby came to life and unloaded. How the hell he did itso neatly, I don't know, but in nothing flat the metal was in a neat stack on the sand. Lonnie bent over it, feeling at thestuff with his finger. He said, "Whatis this? I wantedstraight lead."

Robby said, "This material superior. Higher density—Isotope 217."

Lonnie began to look all excited. And his men were gawping at Robby, whispering at each other. I broke it up.I said, "Robby—will you tell Doctor Morbius we're muchobliged," and he turned around and went plodding back tothe sled.

I thought Lonnie might be sore. This was the second timeI'd stopped him talking to Robby. But I needn't have wor­ried. He was bending over the metal again. He had a pen­knife out and was scraping at the surface and muttering tohimself. I went over to him and said, "Bet you a credit itworks," and he looked up. "Of course it will!" he said. "But what is it?"

Doc and I started back for the ship and I saw he'd for­gotten his D-R again. I said, "Goddamn it, Doc! How manytimes have I got to tell you!" I really called him this time. I was in a bad mood anyway. I'd had a lousy-night, with amaximum of half an hour's sleep. And I still had to makeup my mind about Jerry.

Doc apologized all over and went on ahead. I followed slowly, kicking at the goddamn red sand. I was starting upthe gangway when I looked over at the sled. And saw oneof the sentries standing by it, talking to Robby. I let outa roar that fetched the man back at the double. It alsobrought the Bosun. Robby climbed onto the sled and drove off in his dust-cloud as the sentry came up and saluted. Hewas the Cook, doing his guard turn on O. A. He was adamn good cook and a character. But I let him have it. Igave him a pay-dock and told the Bosun to put him on thelog. I said, "You may think you're privileged. But it doesn'textend to leave a guard post." And then I said, "What thehell were you talking to the thing about, anyway?" I wascurious.

Cookie said, "just a lot of nuclear, sir. Y'see, we've beenfiguring—arguing like—about whether he thinks or not.So I was sort of testing, you might say. Real interesting, it was. Friendly type, he turned out."

I cut him off and sent him back to his post. I had to be­cause I wanted to laugh. I went back into the ship and did laugh. It made me feel a whole lot better, and all at once I knew what I was going to do about Jerry. He was in hishutch, on parole. I had put the word around he was sickand might not be on duty. I went in and shut the door. Hewas lying on his bunk, smoking. He looked at me but didn'tsay anything. I said, "For Christ sake snap out of it," andhe sat up. There must have been something about my voice,because he gave me a sickly half-grin.

I said, "I can't afford to have you on charge. We're un­dermanned anyway. So we'll forget the whole deal, as from now." I went over and stood by the bunk and looked downat him. "But if you blot your log again, brother, I'll reallygive you the works. Full power." I reached over and took acigarette from the pack on his pillow.

He said, "Okay," The grin was itself again. "But keep meaway from Doctor Morbius' family, huh?" I didn't like theway he was looking at me. I pulled the cap off the cigarette and didn't say anything.

He stood up. He said, "Forget it, Skipper. You're a goodjet. In spite of the way you try not to be."

II

Up till the time I fixed it with Jerry, the day had beensort of busy, with things happening right along. But after­wards it was different. Except for Lonnie and his boys get­ting three parts through with rigging the transmitter, noth­ing happened. I mean Nothing. So much of it that all I couldto was keep muddling over the whole mess in my mind— without thinking about Altaira.

Which last wasn't possible. So I worked myself up to a pitch where I had to talk to somebody or get the heaves. Naturally, I picked on Doc. We went out for a walk. Overthe hand to the rocks. It was hot today; much hotter thanyesterday. We sat on the same rock we'd used when he toldme that Unicorn fable. So that didn't help me either.

We talked for an hour. And ended up where we'd started.So Morbius had delivered the lead, or something better. SoI said he must have been in touch, God knows how, with hisAltairian pals or keepers. So Doc didn't agree, although he admitted I was logical. But he kept saying he couldn't seeMorbius as that much of a liar. So then I tried to figuresome other way of opening Morbius up about the wholedeal, and Doc said it wasn't possible from what he couldjudge of the character. He said the last word really. He saidmaybe it was best after all to talk to Base and get some or­ders. That way it wouldn't be my responsibility any more. Isaid he was probably right, and that was about as far as wegot. Or nowhere in other words. We didn't mention Altaira.I thought Doc was on the verge a couple of times but I man­aged to head him off.

It was getting hotter all the time—a sort of dead, stillheat—and we started back for the ship. On the way Docraised a point we hadn't brought up, though maybe we'dboth been thinking about it. He said, "You know, Skipper, if you do get Orders, they'll be to take Morbius back. Yousaid so yourself. And I was wondering how—" He stoppedsuddenly, as if he'd surprised himself. I said, "You meanyou're wondering how the Altairians're going to take it,"and grinned at him. "But you don't believe in 'em, Doc. Re­member?"

He laughed. "Maybe I meant that Force," he said. Andstopped laughing.

We were almost back at the ship by then. We went pastthe tractor, and I had a bad thought. I said, "Jesus! Whatabout that monkey? If any of the boys see that body, they'll be asking too many questions—"

Doc said, "It's all right. I took care of it," and right thenthe Bosun came up and wanted a word with me about guardposts for the night...

And that was all. The rest of the day was more Nothing.And it kept getting hotter. It cooled off a little when it gotdark, but not so much as it had the other nights. And the airwas dead still. More so, if that was possible, than it hadbeen the night before. Jerry said he wondered if there was a storm coming up, if they had storms on Altair-4.

I thought I wouldn't mind a storm. It'd be somethinghappening anyway.

"If only I'd known!" as they always say in reel three of the telaudio stories. If I'd been able to see what was com­ing, I might have changed my thinking.

III

I had a lousy night. Doc had his eye on me all throughdinner, and when I'd taken the early watch and was readyto turn in he insisted on giving me a sedative. But the damn thing didn't seem to work right. It put me to sleep okay. But I had the most godawful dreams. One after the other. I kept waking up, sweating with terror, but I could never remem­ ber what it was that had scared me. There was somethingafter me, that's all that stayed in my mind. Something Icouldn't put a name to, or a shape. The only thing I seemed sure of was a sound. Which was funny in itself; you don't generally remember sounds out of dreams. The sound wassomething breathing. The thing that was chasing me, Icould hear it breathing in my head minutes after I'd waked. It was very soft, but it was big. Too big. There was some­thing wrong about it. As if it was impossible but going right on all the same.

Once—it was around zero four—I was so restless aftera wake-up that I went out onto the gangway and stoodthere and looked all around. But everything was in order.The sentries were on the job, walking their beats. There was no sound or sight or hint of anything wrong. So I went back and climbed in my bunk again.

And went to sleep. This time without the dream. I hadan hour and a half of it before I heard the general reveille being piped over the communicator.

I was only half dressed when there was a knock at thedoor. An agitated sort of knock. It was the Bosun. He wasbreathing hard and looking his grimmest. Mr. Quinn's com­pliments, and would I get out to the rig as soon as I could or maybe sooner. There was something in his voice, and Ipulled on a shirt and ran out, tucking it into my pants as Iwent.

There was a little crowd of men around the rig. I went over at the double and the mob dissolved and I was lookingat Lonnie. He had a mess of plastic and metal in his hands,and he was so mad he was almost blubbering. He began toshout at me, stammering and cursing that s-some b-blood-stained b-bastard had wrecked the only irre-irreplaceablep-part—

I had to shout at him to get him calmed down. And whilehe was calming, I ran my eye over the rig. And didn't be­lieve what I saw.

Somebody—something—had ripped apart the shieldingLonnie's boys had spent hours welding together. Somebody —something—had torn its way between two steel guard-bars, bending them like pretzels. And then had reacheddown and pulled out the klystron frequency modulator,leaving the debris Lonnie was crying over. Somebody—orsomething—must have used incalculable strength. . .

And whoever or whatever it was had done this without the sentries seeing or hearing anything! And then scrapedall the wreckage together and put the tarpaulin cover back!

When I thought of that, I was madder than Lonnie. I toldthe Bosun to put all the night guard under arrest and holdthem for an Inquiry. I pulled Lonnie away from the wreck­age and dragged him back aboard and into the Mess andgot a cup of coffee down him. I said, "That klystron mod­ulator. You said it's irreplaceable?"

Lonnie said, "It was packed in liquid boron, in a sus­pended grav field. With our limited facilities, it isn't recon-structible." He wasn't stammering any more. Or cursing.

I said, "So it's impossible. How long will it take?"

He didn't think it was funny. He scratched at his chin andsaid, "I don't know, Skipper. Suppose I get started rightaway and talk to you later?"

I said, "That's the boy, Lonnie," and told him to getsome breakfast. But he said he'd grab a sandwich in theworkshop and shot out under full revs.

I was just going to put out a call for the Bosun, to get theInquiry started, when Doc came in. He was sweating, andpuffing some. He said Jerry wanted to know if I'd come out and take a look at something they'd found.

So I went. There were only the sentries outside. Lonnie's boys were back in the workshop, I figured. Jerry was stand­ing a few yards the other side of the rig. Or the remains of it. He was looking down at something in the sand. When Doc and I got up to him, he pointed at it without sayinganything.

It was a hole. Maybe three feet around and a foot or sodeep. But you couldn't really tell about the depth, because the sand was so soft it was trickling down from the rim. Itdidn't strike me as anything to write dispatches about, andI said so.

Jerry said, "Wait," and pointed ahead. About fifteen feetaway was another hole, almost identical.

And they went on like that, a chain of them. For three hundred yards. Almost to the nearest group of rocks. Wefollowed them, not talking. Up to a point about fifty feetfrom the rocks, then they stopped. There weren't any moreof them. Not anywhere.

They had to be footprints. But what of? And where hadwhat had made them gone to? Or come from?

We were standing by the last one. I looked at Jerry, then at Doc. I said, "The Robot?"

Jerry said, "It doesn't make tracks that big. Not so deep,and not so far apart."

Doc said, "And it doesn't move without sound, either."

I said, "How do we know it couldn't be altered?" Itwasn't good, but I was thinking of the power. The weldedsheeting ripped up like paper. The steel bars twisted likeputty.

Jerry shook his head. "For my credits, it was an Al-tairian."

Doc said, "Or the Force." He wasn't being funny. ..

IV

I held the Inquiry in the Control Area. The Bosunbrought two reliefs up for it. Six men. I hammered away atthem, but they'd seen nothing, heard nothing. As first Watch Officer, Jerry had made the rounds twice. TheBosun, subbing for Quinn on second watch, had made threerounds. Neither of them had seen or heard anything either.

So I went into the question of beats, and how the men had been walking them. When we got it unscrambled itturned out there might have been three tunes—or four atthe most—when the rig wasn't in sight of any sentry andthere wasn't one of them within fifty yards of it. But the maximum tune this condition could ever have lasted wasn't more than a couple of minutes and probably less.

A couple of minutes for whatever-it-was to wreck the rig and cover it up again. And go away with those fifteen-footstrides? Stepping in the same footmarks it came by?

That line wouldn't even get us anywhere. So I went backto the question of sound. Hadn't anyone heard anything?

I saw one of the men look as if he was going to speak andthen seem to change his mind. One of the Cadet hands, ayoungster called Grey. I said, "You were going to say some­thing. Out with it." He was jittery and didn't want to talk,but I finally got him going. He hadn't said anything aboutwhat he'd heard to anyone. He'd figured it was "just his im­agination." He'd thought the other guys would think he wasoff grav.

I said, "For God's sake, man, what was it you heard?"and he said, "Well—it was like—like something breathing, sir."

That jolted me; and it seemed to make him more nervousstill, just remembering. He said, "Something awful big—" His face was white now. "But—but there wasn't anythingthere, sir! There wasn't anything anyplace!"

That was all. But it was enough to make me call off theInquiry. I didn't want the men thinking too much, speculat­ ing, so I pretended I didn't put any stock in his story. I toldthe Bosun the Inquiry was adjourned, the whole business tobe logged as 'Under Investigation.' I told the six that wentfor them too.

They trooped out, and I put in a call for Doc on the com­municator. While I was waiting for him, I told Jerry he wasin command; I was going to see Morbius. I said, "TakeLonnie off the rig right away. Get him to set up a StandardOne defense perimeter. EM fence and all."

Doc came in then, on the run. I didn't waste any timebriefing him, just took him out to the tractor at the double.

I made the desert part of the trip pretty fast. So fast thatDoc was holding on. We couldn't talk until I'd gottenthrough the rocks and slowed for the roll down into the val­ley. It wasn't quite so hot here and the breeze we were mak­ing felt good and cool. I pulled open the neck of my shutand told Doc we were going to try and get something out ofMorbius.

"One thing's for sure," I said. "He knows more about this business than we do."

Doc said, "You still thinking it might have been theRobot?" and I said, "How the hell do I know?" I told himabout my dream and what Grey had said about hearingthat breathing.

He said, "Breathing puts Robby right out of the picture."I thought he sounded relieved, and for some reason that made me mad. I said, "How do we know it does? Maybethere's a set of valves he uses sometimes. Maybe he wants an oil job. Maybe any damn thing. And maybe that routinehe went through with my gun, and not being able to harm anybody, maybe that was all a lot of ether too!"

But Doc wasn't buying. He said, "I don't know, Skipper.Logic seems to be on your side, but I don't see Morbius theway you do."

I looked at him. He was frowning, chewing at his lip. Isaid, "So we're back on the roundabout. You think it wasan Altairian, but you don't believe in Altairians. So thatleaves you with this sonofabitching 'Force.' Okay?"

And that lasted us through the grove and around to thehouse-front. Morbius wasn't on the patio waiting for us thistime. No one was on the patio. Not even the Robot. It wasvery hot again, and very quiet. The big door was standingopen, but there wasn't a sign of anyone inside. And the sledwasn't anywhere around.

I pulled up and we got out. We looked all over and stillsaw no sign of life. Not even one of Altaira's animals. Thinking about them, I had a nasty moment remembering the titi and wondering whether she'd missed it yet.

I shrugged that off and crossed the patio and pushed thedoor wider and looked in. I called, "Anybody here?" acouple of times. With no result.

I went in, Doc right behind me. There was nobody in theentry. Or in the living room. There was a scarf of Altaira'sover a chair, and on the table in the dining alcove therewere two cups that had been used. Doc and I stood there, and listened some more. There still wasn't a sound. Thereseemed to be more of the silence inside than there had beenout.

I was starting for the door at the back when Doc stoppedme. He pointed across to the front of the room, at the farside from the entrance. He said, "What's that?" and I saw something that hadn't been there the other times. It lookedlike a crack in the wall, with light coming through it. Butwhen we went over, it turned out to be a door that wasn'tquite closed. A sliding door, which fitted so well we'd nevernoticed it before.

I slid it right open. It gave onto a medium-sized roomwhich had to be Morbius' study. Very plainly furnished. Abig writing table, a couple of chairs. The walls lined with cupboards, and racks full of papers and book reels. A read­ing viewer in one corner, with an arm chair in front of it.Papers on the table and the chair behind it pushed back asif someone had just been working there.

We went in. And saw something that hadn't been visiblefrom the outside. An ell to the room, running off to theback. And the end of the ell was solid rock surface, workedsmoother but not painted. It was the same blue-grey as allthe rocks here, the same blue-grey as the mountains them­selves.

In the middle was a door. It had to be a door. A doorinto the rock. Doc and I looked at each other. We didn't sayanything. We went up to the door. It was outlined by somesort of masonry which started out like a triangle with theapex at the top but didn't finish, the way the human eye ex­pected it to, by using the floor as the base of the triangle. The top was maybe five and a half feet high, the greatestwidth about ten feet.

"It's like a conventional diamond," Doc said. "With thebottom two-thirds sawn off."

It was a weird, off-beam shape. It gave me an eerie feel­ing just looking at it. The actual door it framed was thesame neutral dun color as the masonry, but when wetouched it we found it was metal. But it wouldn't move.And we couldn't find a control anywhere.

We wandered over to the writing-table. We looked backat the door and Doc said, "Once behind there and we'd probably find the answers to all our questions."

I said, "My Altairians? Or your Force?" I tried to makea crack out of it, but Doc didn't even give me a smile.

"Maybe both," he said. "And a lot more. A whole lotmore." He pulled a pencil out of his pocket and took a sheetof blank paper from a pile on the table. I wondered whatthe hell he was at.

He began to sketch something. An ordinary doorwayfirst, then a man coming through it. He said, "Doors are functional. They have to be, however much you disguise'em." He sketched the diamond doorway now, right beside the other. "What sort of a being is this shape for?" he said,and began sketching something.

He shifted as he was doing it, and I couldn't see. Imoved to get a view, but he suddenly crumpled the paper up in a fist. "No," he said. "No. The hell with it!"

I didn't care. I had a feeling I didn't want to see anyway.I began looking at the papers on the table. And I foundsomething.

I held it up. I said, "Take a look at this."It was a sheet of what looked like paper. Until youtouched it and found it was metallic. Which wasn't surpris­ing, because metal was what it was. It was a sort of yellow-grey, and pliable as paper. But you couldn't tear it. It wascovered with some sort of writing, or figuring, in blackcharacters. Very black.

They looked like hieroglyphics to me. I said so, but Doc shook his head. He took the sheet and studied it, movingnearer the window. He said, "Not if youmean hieroglyphics.These symbols aren't like anything that ever came fromEarth. As Quinn would say, they aren't terra-shape—"

He never finished. He was interrupted by Morbius'voice. "Good morning, gentlemen,"—and we whippedaround to see him standing there close to us. He must have come through the door in the rock, but it was closed again.It hadn't made a sound.

His face was dead white and his eyes looked on fire. Hismouth was twisted to one side. He said, "My use of theword 'gentlemen' was purely satiric. May I ask whether youhave been over the rest of the house? Perhaps you wouldlike me to show you where my daughter keeps her jewels—"

I cut in on him. He wasn't the only one who could getmad. I said, "We're here on duty, Doctor Morbius. Lastnight someone—something—got past our sentries. And wrecked our transmitter rig. We came here to find out what you know about it—"

I didn't get any further. His face got whiter and he'd have folded if he hadn't grabbed the edge of the table.

Doc got hold of him and put him in a chair. He slumped.His eyes were closed, but when Doc pushed back his sleeveand felt for his pulse, he sat up and pulled the arm away.

He said, "Tell me what happened. Everything that hap­pened."

I told him. He put a hand over his eyes and mumbledsomething. It sounded like, "So it's starting again—"

He looked at me. "And you suspect me?" he said. "Isthat why you're here?"

I said, "Listen, Dr. Morbius—everything we've seensince we landed on this planet goes to prove you're in touch with some native intelligence. You're either friendly with it,or it's in charge of you. It stands to reason you must know something about what happened last night."

He said, "Your logic is faulty, Commander. I knownothing of the invasion. .. However, when you say I am in touch with what you term a native intelligence, you arespeaking the truth."

It came out so quickly I couldn't believe I'd heard it. Ilooked at Doc and saw he was gaping like a kid at a launch­ing base.

Morbius put his hands on the chair-arms and pushedhimself up. He was stooped a bit, but he seemed all right. He leaned over the table and picked up the sheet of metal paper.

"This," he said, "and the writing on it, was made by theinhabitants of this planet." He put it down on the tableagain. Very carefully. He might have been handling a pieceof lunar crystalite. He said, "The date? More than two thousand of our centuries ago..."

He let that sink in a minute. His face was still white, likea wax dummy's. But he was standing straight again. He seemed taller than I'd figured him. He had the damnedestexpression on his face—

FIVE

Edward Morbius

I had to tell them—and show them...

Perhaps I had withheld too long, but now my hand was forced. Their suspicions, their puerile reasoning, the shape of events, everything made revelation imperative.

My mind still retained vestigial infantilities which, nowthe moment I had dreaded was here, made it possible forme to take satisfaction in their bewilderment, their childishawe, the inevitable recognition which must come to them oftheir abysmal inferiority.

I watched them trying to absorb, to comprehend, every­thing that one speech of mine had implied. The youthAdams maintained his look of militaristic belligerence, butbehind it I could sense the undeveloped mind struggling toadjust preconceived ideas. About the man Ostrow I was notso sure. Behind his mask of social understanding I couldfeel the effort of adjustment, but he seemed to be accepting its necessity. With a calmness which told at least of self-control he said to me, "You're going to tell us," in a waywhich made the words neither a question nor a statement.

I marshaled my thoughts. It was no simple task to conveyin a few words, to these circumscribed minds, even a con­cept of this tremendous history.

I said at last, 'This planet was the cradle and habitat ofa race of beings who called themselves the Krell. Throughthe endless web of time they developed to a point at which—ethically, technologically, in fact in every conceivableand inconceivable way—they were uncountable eons aheadof Man as he stands today. And this point they had reachedtwo hundred thousand years ago...

"Having outstripped man's conception of what he termscivilization, having banished from their lives all baseness,the Krell lived for and in the acquisition of knowledge.Turning outward, they sought to unlock not only the secrets of the Universe, but of Nature itself. There is every reasonto believe that, in search of the great key, they journeyed across space to other worlds, even to the Solar system andthat little planet called Earth, before Man had even begunto emerge from bestiality—"

I checked, interrupted by Adams. Unable to assimilatethe total concept, he had seized like a child upon one in­finitesimal point which conveyed some meaning to him. Hedid not speak to me, but to Ostrow. "Maybe that explains the animals," he said. "Maybe they brought them back—"

"Or their forerunners," Ostrow said. He was looking atme. "They—the Krells weren't interested, I suppose, inanything so primitive as Pithecanthropus?"

I went on as if they had not spoken. "Their explorations ended," I said, "the Krell appear to have achieved the verylast pinnacles of knowledge, with only the ultimate peak leftto ascend and conquer. But then—" my voice shook uncon­ trollably—"but then, at this crowning point in their great, their truly miraculous history, this godlike race was de­stroyed. In one night of unknown, unimaginable disasterthey were wiped from existence..."

I was holding them now. Their gaze was fixed upon myface; they made no sound nor movement. I said, "Andthrough the endless centuries since that frightful disaster,all trace of the Krell and their works has vanished from theface of this planet. Even the cities, with their cloud-piercingtowers of glittering translucent metal—even these havecrumbled back into the soil. No remnant of that mighty civilization remains above the ground..."

I waited. I knew what I had to say next, and what I hadto do. I had gone too far to draw back. But I seemed unable to force myself to the inevitable step. Until I saw questionsforming themselves behind the two watching faces; puerile, time-destroying questions.

I moved then. I turned toward the door in the rock. "Butbeneath the ground, gentlemen," I said, "carved from the very heart of the mountains, there is left the very heart ofthose magnificent labors..."

They followed me to the door, Adams eagerly, Ostrowmore slowly. I detected a reluctance in him, and I couldfeel again that he was studying me. It occurred to me thatperhaps I had not brought myself down sufficiently nearto their level, and I made an effort to remedy this, en­deavoring to make my tone and manner more those offriendly exposition.

I slid back the door, pointing out the metal and tellingthem of its everlasting strength and well-nigh unbelievablemolecular density. I led them through and told how thedoor could be sealed by the Rho-ray lock against allattempt to enter. I led them along the narrow corridor andsaw in their faces the dawning of bemazed, incredulouswonder.

Our footsteps echoing, we came to the second archway. Stooping, I led the way through, then stood aside to watchthem as they had their first sight of the laboratory chamber.

They stared around, unbelieving, struck silent like chil­dren faced by a first glimpse of life's wonders. I said,"This is one of the Krell laboratories. By no means thelargest, my researches show, but infinitely the most impor­tant—"

Once more Adams interrupted me. "Not the largest!"he repeated. "But it's—it's tremendous!" Again the infan­tile mind had clutched at the unimportant to steady itself.

I was patient with him. "Size, Commander," I said, "is purely relative, a matter only of scale. You have not yetadjusted your ideas."

It was Ostrow's turn. "You say a Krell laboratory?" hesaid to me. "But this equipment—the lighting—every­thing— It all seems new! As if it hadn't been in existencemore than a few years—"

He stopped as he saw my expression. I said to him, withall the deliberation at my command, "Everything that yousee here, Major Ostrow, everything that you are going tosee—every instrument, every device—has stood un­changed since its construction." I tried to smile at him. "It is a matter of what human engineers, with their unim­aginative nomenclature, would call self-maintenance.Guarded here against all elemental destructiveness, every­thing has existed in perfection for these two thousand cen­turies."

There was no reply. Both of them were too muchengaged in using their sense of sight to exercise the powerof speech. Watching them, I tried to remember my own impressions upon first seeing the chamber. But they werevague, misty.

I said at last, "In a little while, gentlemen, when youare over the first shock of wonderment, when your mindsaccept what your eyes are seeing—then you will have anew cause for wonder, I am sure. You will realize thatmany of the integers of what you are seeing are by nomeans unfamiliar." I pointed to illustrate my words. "Al­though not built for human use, much of the equipmentmust be familiar to the eye of anyone who has ever beeninside a laboratory of electro-physics. Particularly thosemassive banks of relays with their recurrent and ever-changing flashes..."

Again I had to pause. They were still gaping. I sawAdams—once more the infant mind was clutching for non-essential familiarities—glance upward toward the domed roof of rock. I said, "Yes, Commander—the lighting isindirect, and from above. Also—and this would be the oneinexplicable point, even to your Chief Devisor—it is per­manent." I saw Ostrow look at me quickly, and realizedthat, with Adams especially, I must be careful of my tone.

I said quickly, "There are, of course, some deviceswhich will strike no note of familiarity. And those are theoutward signs of the Krell superiority—"

This time it was Ostrow who stopped me. He pointedand said, "That, for instance. What is it?"

I had less trouble in smiling at him now. I said, "Per­haps the greatest of all the treasures here. Without it, Iwould know nothing of the Krells, not even the little Ihave told you."

I walked over to the apparatus and they followed me. I demonstrated for them as I talked. I said, "The top ofthis desk-like protrusion is a screen. Upon it can be pro­jected a written record of the total knowledge of the race,from its primitive beginnings to the tremendous height ithad attained by the time of their destruction. A library, infact; a storehouse of learning the like of which Creation has never seen before,.."

I showed them the great, console-like control board. Isaid, "These are the contacts which, when their properuse has been learned, are the key to the storehouse. . ." Imanipulated a combination, and the screen glowed withlife, showing a page of the simpler characters as notations to a geometric diagram. "It was from this theorem," I said, "that I began to deduce the vast but logical Krell alphabet.That was almost two decades ago, and for every day ofthose years I have come here. My sole purpose—to learn,to learn! To amass knowledge." My hands played with the contacts as I talked, bringing new pages to the screen. "And still I feel like some illiterate savage wanderingdazedly through some stupendous scientific institution, notcomprehending a thousandth part of its wonders...

"It was months before I discovered one of the basicaims of the Krell, but when I had, I began to master theprimary techniques, and applied them. My first experi­ment was to construct the Robot which—" I could notresist a glance at Adams—"has apparently impressed you.Let me assure you, that was child's play. Since then, inevery hour of every day of every year that I have spentwith this treasure-chest of knowledge, I have learned new concepts, new techniques—"

I was checked. First by Adams, who said, "This is toobig. It can't be evaluated all at once. It—"

And then by Ostrow, who seemed to glance warningly at the younger man before he spoke. Ostrow said, "Youspoke of the 'basic aim' of the Krells, Doctor Morbius.What was it?"

He was watching me, studying me. I considered my answer for a long moment. In his undeveloped way, theman had intelligence. I said, carefully, "My actual words, Major, were 'one of the basic aims.' I was referring to the Krell's objective of lessening, and eventually eliminating, all dependence upon physical instrumentalities."

He frowned, his mind grappling with the concept.Adams—and for once I was glad of his presence—put inhis word again. Surprisingly, it showed a certain grasp ofessentials.

He said, 'Twenty years doesn't seem so long, Doctor. Not in relation to—" he made a gesture—"to all this."Groping for words, he was not so blunt as usual. He said, "I can't understand how you could—could absorb all thephysical science stuff. I mean, you weren't trained thatway—"

I said, "A shrewd thought, Commander." A little flat­tery could not, I felt, do anything but good. "However,if you will follow me, I will show you the answer to theproblem..."

I moved as I was speaking, leading the way toward the center of the chamber. We had not so much as approachedit yet, and I doubt whether they had even noticed thesunken, rail-surrounded island and what it contained. Istood by one of the low, wide seats—those seats so plainlynot designed for human use—and turned, and watchedtheir reactions as they drew level.

More starings. More wordlessness. More childish frownsof non-comprehension. And, most surely, renewed reali­zation of their own inadequacy...

I let them stare for a while before I spoke. And when Idid speak, I was careful to keep my tone on the same noteof friendly, matter-of-fact exposition.

I said, "What you are looking at now, gentlemen—thiswhole area and the devices it contains—represent to methe focal point, the ultimate funnel, as it were, of all thatyou have seen here, of all that you will see when I takeyou deeper into the heart of the mountain, of all the lorein that great library..."

I checked myself. Their eyes were only watchful, therewas no light of comprehension in them. I said, "Perhaps Iam trying to go too fast, to over-simplify." I looked at Adams. "We will attack the question another way, Com­mander—by telling you that this device—" I leaned overthe rail and unhooked the head-piece and pulled it up intoview at the end of its glittering cord—"this device willanswer your question as to how my untrained mind could assimilate such advanced, such more-than-human, experi­ments in physics..."

They crowded closer and I waved them to seats beside me. They had something new to gape at now. The head­piece, with its three gleaming electrodes at the end of theirflexible arms.

"This instrument," I said, "is denoted in the Krellwritings by symbols which would translate, approximately,as The Gateway." I slipped it onto my head, adjusting thearms. "It has many functions, but at this moment we needonly consider one of them. This being, strangely enough,the least important..."

I pointed to the switches. "We will take the least first.It is simply a means of measuring the power of the mind.Consider those words, gentlemen. They cover more thantheir simplicity might lead you to believe."

Adams said, "You mean it's a sort of super I.Q. test?"

"Exactly, Commander." I found I could even smile athim now. I pressed the first switch. "If you'll look at thatpanel on the left—"

They stared at the panel. I said, "You will see thatapproximately a third of the board is glowing. Among theKrell that would have placed me, I imagine, as hardlybetter than a moron."

There was speculation in Ostrow's eye. He said, "May Itry it?"

I cut the switch and took off the headpiece. I said, "By all means," and fitted it on him. Adams suppressed amovement; I could feel suspicion of me welling up in him.

I said, "There is no danger, Commander." I did notlook at him. I pressed the switch—and a few inches at thebottom of the board glowed.

Ostrow said, "And my official I.Q.'s one sixty-one!"He smiled ruefully, staring at the board.

I looked at Adams. "Would the Commander care totake the test?"

For the first time I saw a smile on his face. It wasdirected at Ostrow, not at me. He said to Ostrow, "I won'tbother. Leave you guessing—"

He said something to me, but I did not hear it. Be­cause I saw that Ostrow, still with the activated electrodesupon his head, was leaning over the rail and peering at the other switches. He put out a hand toward them and said,"What are these other contacts? What dothey do? What'sthis white one?"

I thought he might touch it. I clutched at his wrist andpulled his hand away. I said, "Be careful, Major. Be verycareful!" I took the headpiece, and lifted it from his head.I leaned over and cut off the first switch.

Again they stared at me. I was growing tired of thoseblank, half-suspicious eyes. I said, "You must excuse my nervousness. But you are trifling with dangers you cannotappreciate." I pointed. "That white switch—subject your­self to the power it liberates and you are asking fordeath!" I found that my hands were shaking. I said, "Itwas fatal to the Commander of our expedition. And Imyself experienced—"

Adams said, "You told us everybody was killed by a'Force.'" He made a gesture. "Is all this what you meantby 'Force'?"

I had to choke down rage. I said, "No. At the time yousaw fit to question me, I realized it would be—" I re­shaped my thought—"I realized that, newly arrived in astrange world as you were, you would not be ready toassimilate too many and differing concepts."

His eyes were hard with suspicion. But before he couldspeak again, Ostrow put in his word. He shot Adams a glance, and then said to me, "You were going to saysomething else, Doctor. About yourself and this—thismachine—"

I was grateful for the interruption. "I myself also experi­mented," I said. "It was in the days when my wife and Iwere alone. Before my house was built over the mouth ofthis excavation...

"At that time my brain-pattern on that panel was onlya fraction of what it is today. But then one day I cut inthe circuit controlled by the white switch, releasing its full power—" I hesitated, on the point of telling them of thosefirst sensations of magical expansion, of standing upon thebrink of understanding. But I checked the urge. I said, "Isubjected myself to the full power for too long. Fortu­nately I had enough sense of self-preservation left to tearoff the headpiece before I collapsed. But I lay unconsciousfor a day and a night, and had to be nursed back tohealth..."

Adams said. "But it didn't kill you." He had returnedto blunt brutality. "You were 'immune' again. The way youwere to this other 'Force'—"

Once more I saw Ostrow dart a warning glance at him.Ostrow said, "You hadn't finished, Doctor Morbius. Ithink you were going to tell us of some other effect besides your illness."

I said, "Exactly. When I used the indicator again, Idiscovered that my mental capacity had more thandoubled."

"And you used the white switch again," Ostrow said.Like that earlier remark of his, it was neither statement norquestion but something in between the two.

I said, "Of course. But with the greatest caution." Iturned to Adams. "There you have the full answer toyour question of how my mind was able to assimilate—"

I saw that he was not listening to me. He was staringpast me, at the great pillar of the central gauge. He pointed to it. "What does that register?" he said. "It's been activeall the time we've been here. But it showed heavier whenyou were using that head-set."

I was surprised by the sharpness of his observation. Tothe eyes of most laymen, the pillar would have seemedpurely architectural. I said, "For the first of what willprobably be many times, Commander, I cannot fullyanswer your question." I crossed to where we could seemore clearly, and they followed me.

"I said, "I know, of course, that it is a gauge. And Iknow that it registers the presence—the presence upon thisplanet—of life and power. Mental power. For instance, its basic registration has been many units higher since youand your companions arrived. But why use of the head­set apparatus should register additionally, I don't yet know, though my present course of study must inevitably lead meto the answer very soon."

They stared at the gauge, and Ostrow remarked uponits divisions, and again Adams surprised me. He said toOstrow, "Sure. They're in decimal series, I guess. Witheach block recording ten times the one before." He lookedat me and said, "Right?"

I said, "Precisely."

Ostrow said, "But what are the units, Doctor?"

I said, "Why not call them amperes, Major?"

He smiled. " 'A volt by any other name.' "

"For Christ's sake!" Adams was not amused. He lookedat the gauge again; then at me. He said, "That's a hell ofa big gauge, with damn small calibrations. The total powermust be—" He frowned. "Must be getting on for infinite."His frown deepened as he tried to envisage the unthink­able.

Ostrow said, "God knows I'm no scientist. No mathe­matician either. But I want to know something—"

He paused a moment—and then asked the question Ihad either been hoping for or dreading. I did not knowwhich. He said, "Doctor Morbius, what is the source ofthe power?"

Yet again, my hand was being forced. I had to show them now. I began to feel a fierce joy in contemplatingtheir reactions.

"I will show you," I said. They must have seen some­thing in my face which told them they stood upon yetanother threshold of experience. Because they said nothing;they merely followed me, half-expectant, half-wary.

I led them the full length of the chamber, to the doorin the far corner of the inner rock-face. I broke the Rho­raywith my hand and the door slid open to reveal theconveyer car, poised and waiting. I pulled back the trans­parent hood and stood aside and told them to get in. They hesitated, and Adams came forward and looked down thetube-like tunnel, where the lights struck gleams from thesingle rail in an endless diminuendo.

Ostrow entered the car first, and I waved him to thefar seat. I took the center, facing the controls. I waited,and in a moment Adams took the seat on my right. Ipressed the hood-switch and the transparent shell slid backinto place over our heads.

I said, "Our speed will be very high, gentlemen, but there is barely a sensation of movement." I made greateffort to keep my voice and tone normal, matter-of-factBut I glanced at their faces, and saw what I wanted to see.

I made the starting contact. There was that one instantof pressure, with one's back thrust against the seat as ifby some great invisible hand; then release and the hum­ming gentle sway of the journey...

Neither of them spoke, but I could see them—Adams particularly—continually glancing to the sides of the tun­nel. They could not, of course, see anything but a blur oflights. But I knew they were calculating, consciously orunconsciously; time and distance, time and speed, time andspeed and distance...

I set the dial to stop at the first great transverse. Thehumming changed, its note deepening. The pace beganto slacken, so that the lights were no longer a blurringchain but entities growing wider and wider apart. Thesmooth surface of the rock shone dully around them. . .

We came out of the tube, the wheels of the conveyerbarely moving, and rolled to a stop at the edge of the firstshaft. I released the hood and it rolled back.

And I watched them as their eyes, at first glazed withthe shock of what they were seeing, slowly cleared. Clearedonly to fix themselves again in absorbed but half-rejectedwonder.

They looked up the first vast shaft, and down it. And then across to the second, over the slender bridge span­ning the seemingly bottomless chasm. And everywhere—up and down and across—their eyes met nothing but that endless, monstrous and beautiful monotony. The almostinfinite repetition of the units, housed in their gleamingmetal sheaths—side by side, head to foot—as far andfarther than any eye could reach...

And each unit with its glowing relay rippling on andoff in a perpetual pattern of light, ever-changing, alwaysthe same...

I reached across Adams and opened the door of thecar. He looked at me with a start, almost as if I hadwakened him from sleep. We did not speak, but he slidout and stood on the platform beside the monorail. I fol­lowed him, and Ostrow came close on my heels.

Still none of us spoke. I led the way out onto the bridge.We stood in the center and they gripped at the rail andwent on using their eyes, forcing their minds to believewhat they were seeing. Adams looked down, and shud­dered and closed his eyes for a moment. Ostrow muttered something under his breath.

I said, "You are looking down twenty miles, Com­mander." My voice echoed weirdly.

I pointed upward. "And we are twenty miles from thesurface."

I turned, throwing out my arm to point across thebridge. "Another twenty miles..."

I said, "We are in the outer shaft. There are four hun­dred shafts in all—identical with this..."

Ostrow said, "It's—it's unthinkable! . . . One vast ma­chine—a twenty-mile cube of it!" His voice was hushed,and its echoes were stranger than the echoes of my voice.

Adams said, "So it's big. So that's not what we cameto see." He was staring at me.

I said, "This, Commander, is merely a wayside stop."I was surprised by the juvenility of my feelings towardhim; unashamed that I should feel pleasure at his dis­composure.

I led the way back to the conveyer. We sat as before.I closed the hood and warned them. I said, "From herethere is a much steeper drop. You may be—uncomfort­able."

Without waiting for them to reply, I made the startingcontact, and pushed the lever over for top speed. Weflashed across the transverse in a breath, and were in thetube of rock again and pitching downward at a pace whichbrought the humming almost to the pitch of a scream.There was no gentle swaying to our progress now but anawful steadiness as our bodies were thrust back—plas­tered back—against the seats...

I had never dared this speed before. I began to fear thatI would pass our mark and eased the lever back—and back.

We began to slow. The shriek merged downward into the humming. The pressure on my body eased, and I feltthe gentle sway of the car again...

We stopped, only a yard or so ahead of my usual spot.There was the alcove in the rock-wall, its light shiningthrough its meshed-metal screen.

I drew a deep breath. I did not look at either of my passengers as I spoke. I said, "We are so deep here, gen­tlemen, that heat and pressure variations may trouble you.But don't be alarmed, there are no lasting effects."

I released the hood, and Adams opened the door besidehim and we stepped out onto the narrow platform. There was nothing here for them to see; only the endless lowarching of the tunnel, its rock gleaming dull under thelamps.

I said, "We are standing some fifty miles beneath the surface of the planet," and heard Ostrow catch his breathand some muttered indistinguishable word from Adams.Their faces glistened with moisture, their breathing washarsh and fast.

I broke the ray-lock and pushed back the screen. I stepped up into the alcove, beckoning them to join me.

They stared at the bulbous excrescence upon one wall,and the mouth of the funnel-like scope which sprang fromthe floor to face it.

"More miles below us—" I pointed to the rock beneathour feet—"is the answer to that question of Major Os-trow's which brought us here. The source of power." Ireached out and released the cover of the great mirror, andthen swung the mirror itselfdown upon its supports untilit locked.

I said, "Look in that mirror—and nowhere else. No­where else!"

They stared at me, and Ostrow murmured, " 'Thou canstnot look upon the Gorgon's face and live,'" and tookAdams by the armand turned him to face the mirror.

I stood beside them and touched the switch that slidback the cover from the mouth of the funnel in the floorbehind us...

This was the moment I had waited for; the momentwhen, as they looked into the mirror, I should look attheir faces. But I did not. I could not. I should haveknown that the fascination of that terrible, that awe inspiring sight would hold me oblivious of all else. As it hadbefore. As it always must...

The sea of leaping flame, shot through with every colorof the greater spectrum. . . The mouth of hell—or the gateway to Godhead...

I do not know how long we stood there—but at last Ireached for the switch and closed it and heard the coverslide into place over the scope behind us.

The mirror was blank again, and I was free. Now Ilooked at the faces; they were bloodless and glisteningwith sweat, the eyes wide and gazed. When I spoke Icould see the effort it cost to focus not only the eyes themselves but the minds behind them.

I said, "Does that answer the question? . . . Power the equal of ten thousand nuclear reactors in tandem. . . Thepower of an exploding star. . . Cosmic power. . ."

They looked at each other, and then at me. They stilldid not speak. I led the way out of the alcove and lockedthe screen in position. I staggered as I turned to the car,and realized suddenly that I had reached a dangerous pitchof exhaustion.

Ostrow put out a hand as if to help me, but I brushedit aside.

I leant over the car and turned the seats around, findingthat I had to support myself with a hand upon the door. With a great effort I stood straight and gestured to Ostrow.

He climbed into the car without a word, but as I tookthe center seat beside him, Adams behind me, I saw thathe was studying me again. And now with the physicallyappraising eye of his profession.

I was determined to show no weakness. I made a slowbusiness of neutralizing the control set I had used on thejourney down; then was slower still in uncovering the setI must use on the return.

I said, "We are going back to the surface," exercisingcare to keep my voice at its previous pitch. "There maybe small discomfort as the pressure alters, and the tem­perature—"

I had intended to go on; to tell them they need not be alarmed. But it became too great an effort. . .

I pressed the hood switch—and then, when we were covered, made the starting contact...

I was conscious all the time of Ostrow's eyes, watch­ing me—

SIX

Major C. X. Ostrow

I was anxious about Morbius. He looked a sick man andI couldn't stop myself wondering what we would do if hecollapsed before we reached the surface again. . .

But he didn't. In fact, he seemed to pick up the mo­ment we began to mount and the temperature and pressurestarted to ease. And when the car stopped, and we foundourselves back at the door to the laboratory, he seemedto be at least as well as he had been when we started onthat unbelievable journey.

He led the way through the laboratory and back to bisstudy, and through that to the living-room. The Robot was standing by the rear door, and somehow the sight of him—of it—was startling. Morbius waved us to chairs anddropped onto a settee himself. He said, "Robby—wine,"and the thing turned and went out and I realized this wasthe first time any one of us had spoken since we'd turnedaway from that indescribable sight fifty miles under ourfeet.

And none of us spoke now. The Robot came back,with a wine decanter and glasses on a tray. For me therewas still an uncanny quality about his butler-like effi­ciency. He filled the glasses, and handed them to us. Heset the decanter down on a table near Morbius—and wentout again.

Adams drained his glass and sat forward in his chair.I wondered what he was going to say.

He said to Morbius, "The Krells' objective was to dowithout physical instrumentalities?"

Morbius said, "That is correct, Commander."

Adams said, "That's one hell of an instrument you'vejust been showing us."

Morbius flushed. It was a dark, purplish flush and Ididn't like it. He didn't speak.

I gave Adams a warning glance. I said, "Maybe theyhad to have it. To teach themselves how to do without it."

Morbius stared at me. The flush leaving his face tooquickly, he said, "You see glimmerings of the truth,Major."

Adams' face was set, completely expressionless. Hesaid, "We shouldn't be fooling around trying to get inaudio touch with Base. This thing's too big. It ought tobe reported on. Fully, and right away." He kept his eyes on Morbius. "You ought to know that, sir. No one mancan monopolize a great discovery this way."

Morbius came to his feet in one convulsive movement. He said, "I've been expecting that from you, Commander,ever since I was forced to show you some of the work ofthe Krell." His face was white, even his lips. "What do you mean to do? Try and take me back, whether I amwilling or not? So that I can waste years explaining theinexplicable to fools!"

Adams said, "What else can I do? Report you're work­ing out the secrets of the universe? And that maybe you'llgive out with the recipe—when you're good and ready?"

Morbius began to pace, his hands clenched at his sides.He was making a terrific effort to control himself.

He said, "For nearly twenty years, Commander—ever since I first began to study the lore of the Krell—I havedebated this question with myself. Dispassionately, I hope, and examining every facet of the problem."

He paused, staring into Adams' face as if he were try­ing to read his thoughts. He said, slowly and deliberately, "I have come to the inevitable, the unalterable conclusionthat Man is not yet ready, not yet fit, to receive suchknowledge." He stopped abruptly, keeping his eyes onAdams'.

Adams said, "Mankind isn't ready, huh? But the greatDoctor Morbius is?"

The dark flush stained Morbius' face again, and heturned away with a violent, oddly futile gesture. I couldsee his whole body trembling.

I said quickly, "Maybe Doctor Morbius has specialqualifications," and shot Adams another warning look.

But if he saw it, he ignored it. He stood up to face Mor­bius. "Let's go back a bit," he said. "To what brought mehere—the sabotage last night. You will say you had nothingto do with it? Know nothing about it? Can't even guess?"

The blood ebbed from Morbius' face, leaving only anugly patch over each cheekbone.

"You fool!" he said suddenly. "I warned you, didn't I?Before you ever landed your ship, I warned you—"

"You mean your mysterious 'Force'?" Adams said."You mean that's on the loose again?"

It was the tone more than the words that proved thelast straw. Morbius raised his clenched hands above hishead, and I thought for an instant he was going to smashthem into Adams' face. "You—you—" he began, but thenrage seemed to choke him and he suddenly staggered. . .I just got to him in time. I grabbed him and eased himback to the settee and down onto it.

"What the hell—" said Adams from behind me, and Itold him savagely to shut up and bent over Morbius.

His eyes were closed, and his breathing was too fastand too light. I unbuttoned the collar of his tunic and feltfor his pulse. It was heavy and irregular, I said to Adams,"Get the emergency-kit from the tractor. Quick."

He was hardly out of the room before Morbius wasstruggling to sit up. His eyes were open and he wasmumbling something. I heard, ". . . so tired. . . so tired. .."

Gently, I pushed him back against the cushions. I said,"It's all right—take it easy—"

I loosened another button of the tunic and lifted his legs up until he was lying straight. He watched me all the time.His eyes were eminently sane, but they had a gaze onthem which bore out the snap diagnosis my mind hadalready made.

"Tired—" he muttered again. ". . . too tired. . ."That was the clincher. Until another doctor came along, my patient was suffering from complete exhaustion, nerv­ous and otherwise.

Adams came back with the emergency kit, and as soonas Morbius saw him he started trying to sit up. He said,"Commander—I insist—if you doubt my word—"

I waved at Adams and he moved back out of sight. I gotMorbius lying down once more. I said to him, "Just takeit easy now. . . Do as I say and you'll be all right. . ."

He started to speak, but gave it up as too much effort.His eyes closed.

I moved quietly away from the couch and joined Adams.He was standing by the window, looking out, but turnedquickly as I came up. I said, very low, "I'm in charge for the moment. Get the hell outside while I put him to bed."

"What's the matter with him?" His tone matched mine.

"Looks like exhaustion," I said. "Whatever it is, you'renot helping it any—"

"Sure it isn't an act, Doc?"

"Don't be a fool; do what I tell you!" I gripped him bythe arm. "Think where you'd be if he had a stroke anddied on us!"

That got him. He gave me one of his sudden grins andsaid, "Okay, Doc—okay."

He walked out into the entrance hall, and I heard thebig door open and close.

I went back to my patient. He was trying to sit upagain. I quieted him and opened the kit, my shoulderturned so that he couldn't see what I was doing.

While I filled a syringe he started talking, his voicethick and blurred. He said, "Doctor—doctor—I don'twant to go to sleep. . . I don't want to go to sleep!"

There was no point in fighting him. I said smoothly,"Who's going to put you to sleep? . . . We want to wake you up." I showed him the syringe. "And this is the stuffto do it!"

He eyed me suspiciously, but let me push back hissleeve. He winced a little as the needle jabbed into his arm.

In less than a minute, he was out. So dead asleep thateven a Krell couldn't have waked him.

I stood up and put the syringe back in the kit. I lit acigarette and looked down at the man and thought heshould be hi bed. I wondered where Altaira was. Sheought to be told about her father, and he ought to be leftalone for at least twelve hours, and I ought to be told wherehis bedroom was.

I considered finding Robby and getting him to help me.But then it occurred to me that I'd have toactivate him,and somehow the idea didn't appeal to me. ..

I went outside for Adams. I was sure he'd be on the patio, but he wasn't. The tractor was in my way and Iwalked out onto the blue-grey track and around it.

And then the silence hit me. There was too much of it.

It made me realize what a terrifying adjectiveunearthlycould be.

I looked uneasily around at the house, and the windowsstared back at me. I looked out across the grassy stretchwhere we'd watched Altaira and her animals, and therewas nothing but the grass. Suddenly, I found I didn't likeits color. I wanted it to be green instead of gold. I wantedthe sky to be blue, and the hot sunlight yellow. . .

I started toward the grove of trees which lined the road,but when I'd gone a few yards changed my mind for noreason and started across toward the pool.

I found I was almost running, and forced myself to stop.I was just about at the point where Altaira had stood tofeed her animals when the thought struck me that I might shout. In the silence my voice ought to carry for miles.

I was cupping my hands around my mouth, and fillingmy lungs, when I suddenly saw him.

He was less than a hundred yards away, pacing slowlyup and down the paved walk on the far side of the pool, appearing and reappearing through the screen of the shrub­bery. His hands were thrust into his pockets, his head wasbent. He was. so deep in thought I doubted he even knewwhere he was.

Seeing him made everything feel very different. I wasthankful I hadn't shouted, and instead of thinking aboutmyself I began thinking about him. No wonder he waspacing. Even yesterday he'd had enough on his mind tofrighten a Marshal, let alone a young SE Commander. Andlook what today had brought! The added, the incalculableresponsibility of finding that Morbius was the sole holderof knowledge which must be communicated to Mankind!

And Morbius was sick. And Morbius would fight againstsharing his knowledge. And there was no one to decide howhe should be dealt with; no one except Commander John Justin Adams...

And, unless I had missed my best guess, John JustinAdams was in love with Morbius' daughter.

I started toward the pool. But I'd only gone a step orso when I stopped dead in my tracks. As if my thinkingabout her had conjured her, there was Altaira, face to facewith Adams just as he emerged into my line of sight again. She had come from the trees behind the pool, and her armswere full of flowers she had been gathering. They weregreat red-and-purple blossoms on long white stems, andshe was looking down at them.

Neither of them saw the other until they had almostcollided. They were only a pace apart when they stopped,and raised their heads, and stared at each other, motionless.

There was something about the little tableau—an ex­quisite tension, a purely natural drama of line and color—that held me as still as they were. They hadn't seen me,and wouldn't. So it was plain I must either get out of thereor hail them.

But I didn't move. I went on watching them.

I don't know how long it was they stood there, gazing ateach other. But I do know they didn't speak. Althoughthey were too far away for me to hear or even see, I knewthat. There was something defiant in the way they looked;some nuance of posture which made me know—particularlyabout Altaira—that there was conflict here; conflict I knewnothing about...

Then the whole static picture burst into movement. Shedid speak—and as she spoke she started to turn away. . .

And then Adams moved for the first time. His hand shotout and caught her by the shoulder. She faced him again,her head flung back as if in protest. . .

And then her arms opened, and the flowers fell at herfeet. And his arms went around her and hers went aroundhis shoulders and they were locked in a kiss. . .

I came to myself. I turned quickly away and started backtoward the house. My feet made no sound in the grass, but I found myself walking on tiptoe. . .

I was nearly back to the tractor when I looked around.I couldn't help it.

I could see them through the shrubs. They were walkingaway from the pool, slowly, and Adams' arm was aroundthe girl as they walked.

They disappeared into the trees. ..

II

I went back into the house. I didn't mind the thought ofRobby so much now, and started looking for him. He wasstanding, startlingly dead-seeming, just behind the rear doorto the living room. I activated him by using his name, andhe not only showed me Morbius' room but carried himthere.

It was a small, monastic place, just off the corridor which led back from the living room. When we had my still sleep­ing patient in bed I sent Robby out and checked the man'sheart and respiration and blood pressure. They were allmuch better than I'd expected, and when I'd made sure he was lying comfortably I went out of the room myself.

And was faced with a problem I hadn't contemplated. Robby was activated; how did one de-activate him?

The answer was simple, but it only came to me after I'dkept myself busy for half an hour thinking up orders to give him. For some reason, I found he made me more un­comfortable 'alive' and waiting, with that one light glowingbehind the louvres, than he did as an inanimate hunk loom­ing in a corner.

He gave me the answer himself—because I asked him.I said, "Robby—how do I switch you off?" and he told me,whirring and clicking. It was as easy as that. I said, "That'sall now—" and it was. He stood there, a dead lump of metalagain.

Then I sat by the windows, looking out over the patioand smoking one cigarette after the other and trying tokeep awake by telling myself this was no time to get tired...

I was on my second or third cigarette when I thoughtI heard the distant spit-crack-hiss of a D-R pistol. I jumpedup and ran to the entry and pulled open the door. . .

And stopped on the threshold, wondering whether I'ddreamed the sound. There was something so absolute about the silence that somehow I couldn't imagine it had just beenbroken, and the more I thought, the less certain I was thatI had really heard it. . .

But then I saw Adams and Altaira. They were walkingtoward the house over the gold-tinted turf. They were very close together.

But they hadn't seen me, and I backed in and closed thedoor, slowly and quietly, and crossed to the rear of the living room and sat myself in a big chair.

They arrived a moment or two before I thought theywould. I did a good job of not hearing them until they wereright in the room and then jumped up and said I hadn'theard them come in.

They weren't close together now, of course, but therewas no mistaking their new relationship. It crackled between them like the EM waves of the fence that by thistime Quinn and Farman must have set up around the ship.

But then I saw Altaira had been crying; tears were still welling in her eyes. They didn't fit the sentimental pictureI'd been building in my mind and I blurted out, "What'sthe matter?" before I realized this could possibly be theworst thing to say.

But she smiled at me and said, "Please forgive me. I know I'm being foolish—" and gulped down a sob andlooked across at Adams and said, "Please—you tell him—please. .."

Adams said, "It was Khan—that tiger of hers. We—we'd been—we were coming out of the woods back there—and it was going to spring at her. It was out to kill. LuckilyI saw it in time—"

He seemed to be bogging down and I said, "So I did hear a D-R. I thought I'd been dreaming. . ."

Adams said, "I couldn't help it. I had to do it—I hadto!" He was speaking to me, but he was looking at the girl.

She gave him a smile which made me know the pictureI'd been drawing for myself was right after all.

She said, "Of course you did, J—" She started to say his name but caught herself. She looked at me. She said, "Howis Father, Major Ostrow?"

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't been expecting thequestion, and I wondered how much—or how little—Adams had told her.

He cut in before I could speak. He said quickly, "I toldher about you checking him, Doc. And finding he was wayover-tired—"

Poor John Justin Adams, I thought. I could see all toowell the jam he'd been in. At first forgetting Morbius com­pletely; then remembering, and thinking what she wouldthink of him for having forgotten; then not wanting to scareher but knowing he'd got to say something—

I said, "Your Father's fine, Altaira. He's in bed andasleep. And he'd better stay asleep for twelve hours at least. I gave him a shot; it seemed to me he'd been over-working, not getting enough rest—"

She said, "Oh, I'mso glad! I know he hasn't been sleep­ing enough. . . I've tried and tried to tell him." She camecloser to me and laid a hand on my arm. She said, "Might Ijust go in and look at him. I won't wake him—"

I said, "Of course you can, honey." I felt old andavuncular.

She gave me another smile, and carefully didn't lookat John Justin Adams, and was gone. . .

John Justin grabbed me by the arm with fingers that feltas if they might leave permanent dents. He said, "I had todo it that way about Morb—about her father, Doc!"

I said, "Of course you did." I smiled at him because I'donly just realized how young he really was.

But perhaps I shouldn't have smiled. He didn't seemto like it. He said, "What the hell d'you mean—of course?"and I couldn't help smiling again.

He scowled at me—then suddenly changed the scowlto a sheepish grin. He said, "My God, is it that obvious?"

I said, "We-ell, I'm sort of a trained observer of homomiscalled sapiens."

He caught at my arm again. He wasn't grinning now,sheepishly or otherwise. He said, "Look, Doc—I don'tknow what you're thinking. But in case it's wrong, I'd better put it right. And quick!" The fingers were sinkingdeeper and deeper into my flesh. He said, "You don't know me very well, but maybe you can guess I'm not—well, I'mno Jerry Farman about women. I—well, I've always hadit in the back of my mind that if I ever found the right oneI just might transfer out of this Deep Space stuff. I mean, sothat we could marry, and have a family, and be togetherthe way human beings were meant to—"

He stopped as abruptly as he'd begun. He was bitterlyembarrassed, not by me so much as by himself.

And then, before I could think of anything to say, helet go of my arm and pulled the back of a hand across hisforehead and said, in a hushed voice that was almost awhisper, "Jesus, Doc—that tiger! If I'd been a split micro­second later with that blaster—" He closed his eyes for aninstant, trying to shut out a sight behind them.

And then he said, "Now why the hell would he want tokill Altaira?"

Without thinking I said, "John, where's your memory?Didn't I tell you the story of the Unicorn?"

A slow flush crept up into his face, and I could have happily cut out my tongue. The trouble was that I'd sud­denly realized how much I liked this boy, and the discoveryhad startled me into being utterly tactless.

The flush died away. "I see what you mean," he said, and his face had its poker mask on again.

He walked across to the center window and stood look­ing out of it for a moment. There was something about the set of his shoulder; the boy had disappeared, and this wasCommander Adams again. Commander Adams once morewrestling with the problems of duty...

III

It was nearly dusk when we drove away, Adams at thewheel.

As we started around the curve into the grove of trees,I turned in my seat and saw Altaira still standing on thepatio, staring after us.

I told Adams, and he nodded. His face was set, and Ithought he looked ten years older.

We were two-thirds up the long slope to the desert be­fore either of us spoke again. And then he said, suddenly,"Quite a day, huh? How d'you feel, Doc?"

"Unreal," I said. "And God-awfully tired!" I wished hehadn't asked me; it made me feel worse.

There was another silence after that. It lasted until wewere through the gap in the rocks. I was three-quartersasleep when he said, just as if we'd been talking all thetime, "That roller-coaster trip? I suppose wedid take it?. . . Those umpty-million relays! That hell-hole in the look­ing glass! . . . We aren't having nightmares, are we?"

"I wish we were," I said.

I wanted to leave it at that, but he wouldn't let me. Hesaid, "That god-damn power! What the hell is it, Doc?"

I said, "I don't know! I'm no scientist." But then a mem­ory rang in my head. "Remember what he said down there? 'Cosmic power.' Do you think he meant it, by any chance?"

The tractor swerved as Adams looked at me, startled."Christ!" he said, "I wonder—"

There was more silence then, but no more dozing forme. My mind had started working again. I found myselfgoing over every minute of this extraordinary day—andcoming up with one vast Why. . .

Why the huge instrument to do away with instrumental­ity? Why the device which measured intellects with onehand and boosted them with the other? Why the extermination, in what Morbius had called 'one single night,' of thewhole race of Krell super-beings? Why Morbius' dread ofbeing forced to report on his discoveries? Why the terra-type animals? And why, why, why hadn't their develop­ment included protective coloration?

I stopped the why-ing right there, because the last wasone which, conceivably, I could do something about an­swering. And any answer in this maze of riddles was better than none, might even give the key to others. Half an hour's work in my surgery—an hour's—and I might come up with something. I could only try. I made up my mind to start theminute I was back on board, or at least as soon as we'd hadfood...

I looked around. Adams was driving pretty fast, even though it was quite dark now. But we'd passed the chasm,so there was nothing to worry about. I began thinkingabout Farman and the others. I wondered whether there'd been any more mysterious happenings, and then realizedthat if there had, Jerry would have got in touch with Adamson the audi-video.

The lights of the ship were showing more and moreplainly now. They'd been augmented by a flare which Ifigured must be just by Quinn's rig. And that started methinking about Quinn, and how it really should have been he to whom Morbius showed the Krell powerhouse.. .

Adams said out of the blue, "Lonnie's got to see thatunderground stuff," and I laughed and said somethingabout one of us being a telepath.

The moons were coming up. Their green-grey glow was changing the ship's lights to a glaring, brazen yellow whichdidn't fit the Altairian landscape. It was odd. It made mefeel, suddenly and for the first time, that after all we werethe interlopers.

"The fence is up," Adams said, and I peered ahead andsaw the metal posts, at regular forty-foot intervals, standingall around the perimeter like inanimate sentries.

They looked innocuous, even faintly silly. But when we passed the twenty-yard mark, they burst into crackling life.Between them, great twenty-foot jets of blue-white shot outto join each other, looking like flaring wires. First theywere only in that section immediately in our path, but al­most at once, as the other posts picked up the impulse, theyspread until they outlined the whole perimeter. Inside, theguards came running, converging on the point where thefence first was activated. I could hear the Bosun's voice shouting orders—and the beam of a searchlight from the ship cut a big ribbon out of the darkness, swept in narrow­ing arcs, and then hit us, pinning the tractor in a flood ofbrightness.

Adams said, "Good!" and nodded to himself.

More orders from inside, and within seconds the fencewas dead—just a series of metal posts again. The search­light was switched off too, and Adams drove slowly throughand parked close to the side of the ship.

Farman came up as we climbed out. He shouted, "Fence on!" into the darkness, and I heard the click-clock of a bigswitch. He looked at Adams and said, "Hi, Skipper," andthen was formal with, "Fence established. Nothing toreport."

Adams said, "Fine. How's Lonnie getting along with thatmodulator?"

Farman said, "Been shut up in his shop all day. You getanything out of Morbius?"

Adams didn't answer; he started for the gangway, andJerry and I tagged along...

It was the Cook's off-watch and we had a cold mealserved by one of the orderlies. Adams and I were bothravenous, but in between mouthfuls we told Farman and Lonnie Quinn about everything we'd seen. Quinn hadn'twanted to leave his work, and it had taken a personal visitto the workshop to get him up to mess. But now he was gladhe'd come. In fact, he was fascinated, and fired questions atus as fast as a Colt-Vickers disintegrator. His face hadsmears of grease all over it, and his hair was standing on end, and his eyes were sparking behind their huge glasses.

A lot of the questions were beyond us, but we did ourbest. And we questioned him too. About the power sourceand that hellish set of flame seventy miles under the ground.

When we'd described it—with me doing most of the talk­ing and Adams putting in the key word once in a while—I came to the use of the word 'cosmic' by Morbius, and how we didn't know whether it was just a figure of speech orwhether he'd meant it literally.

I thought Lonnie was going to jump right out of his chair.He was speechless for a moment, but then started anotherrapid-fire burst of questioning; so rapid-fire that we couldn'tcatch more than one word in three.

Adams cut in on him. He said, "Hold it, Lonnie—holdit! First chance we get, you can see for yourself."

And that was the end of the meal. Quinn shot back to his workshop, down in the bowels of the ship. Farman went tohis bunk to catch a few hours sleep before his night watch. Adams, taking over, started making rounds with the Bosun—and I went to the surgery.

I locked myself in, and put on an overall. I set up myoperating-table, and got the lights fixed right, and then wentto my spare vacuum-locker, and opened it and took out thebody of the titi...

IV

It must have been about half an hour later, while I wasstaring white-faced and groggy at the opened-up subjecton my table, that the EM fence began to act up. As Adamstold it to me afterwards, he was standing between the gang­way and the rig, talking to the Bosun, when it happened.The section of fence right behind the rig began to sparkviolently, sending out its joining sets of electric fire. This meant—or should have meant—that something or someone was approaching from outside the perimeter.

But the shadowless sand, almost black in the moonlight, was visible for miles. And there was nothing on it. Nothingmoving or still.

"What the hell—?" said Adams, and the Bosun shoutedfor a hand called Nevski, who was Quinn's most trustedhelper and in charge of the fence.

Nevski came running—and all the time the fence wenton sparking. Only it was sparking differently now, with thebolts of flame no longer joining each other but growingshorter and shorter.

And the rest of the fence, which should have gone intosympathetic operation, was completely dead.

Adams didn't like it. Nor did the Bosun, who began toshout for extra men but countermanded the orders when Nevski, a phlegmatic soul, merely rubbed at his chin andsaid, "That ****jng continuer must be shorting again," andmarched off toward the fence-control gear on the other sideof the rig.

Adams and the Bosun followed him—perhaps, as we fig­ured later, saving their lives in the process.

They watched while he grumbled his way down into themachine-pit and started tinkering. After a few minutes,Adams asked him whether he thought Mr. Quinn should be sent for, but Nevski, with all that sturdy independence sotypical of Devisor hands, merely spat in the sand and asked,"What the * * * * can he do that I can't do?"

It was then that the young Cadet-hand Grey came run­ning up to Adams. He was panting, and almost dropped hisD-R rifle as he saluted. He said, "Reporting off post, Sir—"and then shed all military formula. "I heard it again, Sir!" he said. "The breathing! It went right by me! But there'snothing there! There's nothing there!" His voice was goingtoo quickly up the scale.

Adams barked, "Where? Where's your post? Quick,man."

But the boy didn't have to reply. Because, right on top ofhis words, the scream came...

It came from the direction of the ship, and everyone out­side the ship—sentries, mechanics, Adams and the Bosun—all heard it.

It was the dreadful scream of a man in terror and agony.It hung on the still air for one intolerable moment—andthen died. After it, the silence seemed thicker than it hadbefore.

It was Lonnie Quinn who had screamed, and it wasAdams who found what was left of him...

I saw it only a few minutes later, after Grey had comepounding at the surgery door.

The boy was in such a state that he could barely articu­late, and it was with only the knowledge that Quinn was dead that I rushed out of the ship and around toward thelittle open port of his workshop. Over my head, the com­municator's emergency siren howled, followed by a voiceshouting orders. And the searchlight came on at full powerand began to sway its beam around the desert.

There was no one with the remnants of Alonzo Quinn when I reached them, and hardened surgeon though I was, I had trouble resisting an almost irresistible urge to vomit.

He had been, literally, torn to pieces. Worse, he had first been dragged bodily out through the port—whose aperture was too small by many inches to force his body through ex­cept by the exertion of some almost unthinkable power.There were dreadful evidences on the rim of the port—andthe rest, far worse, was strewn about the sand. Not a limbhad been left on the trunk, and even that had been ripped asunder. . . And the head—well, it lay face downwards,thank God!

In my mind I kept hearing Morbius' voice—". . . Likerag dolls—ripped to pieces by a malignant child ..."

V

It was after midnight when Adams called me and Farman into the mess room for a conference. A full strengthguard was still surrounding the ship, and the fence, so faras any of the Divisors could tell, was working again.

The searchlight was tireless, but it had revealed nothing and no one. Except—

Another trail of the great amorphous footprints. Theyfirst appeared immediately outside the fence, just whereAdams and the Bosun had been standing when the so-calledshorting had taken place. And they led straight to the ship and around it to the port of Quinn's workshop.

And there they stopped. Whatever made them must have passed within six feet of Adams, made direct way betweentwo constantly patroling sentries, and crossed the full vision-field of the gunner stationed at the rear blaster.

But it hadn't been seen; and the footprints had come outof nowhere, dissolved into nowhere...

And now the three surviving officers of United PlanetsCruiser C-57-D were looking at each other over the baremess-table.

Adams said, "I've made up my mind. We're getting out.It's clear my duty's to take Morbius back. Come daylightwe start the job of putting that core back in the ship. WithLonnie gone, it's going to take—" he pondered—"maybetwelve hours. But we might be attacked again while we'reon the job." He looked from me to Farman. "Any ideas?"

There was an urgent knocking on the door, and theBosun marched in. He was obviously the bearer of morebad news, but he was very military, very correct.

He snapped a salute at Adams and said, "Report manmissing, sir. Zero two four eight six three—Specialist First Class Dirocco, James."

Adams jumped up—and sat down again. He said,"That's the Cook," and the Bosun said, "Yessir. He's gone,sir."

Adams shot questions at him, but didn't find out much.The whole story was that when, only a few moments ago,the Bosun had been around the perimeter, checking each man at his post, he'd discovered that Cookie was missing.He'd made a full search, including the ship, and there was no doubt about it. There had been conflicting stories fromthe other men as to when he was last seen—but the fact re­mained he had disappeared.

"The crew was wonderin', sir," the Bosun said, "whetherwe'd be puttin' out a search party—"

He got no farther. Adams said, "No!" slamming his firstdown on the table.

"Yessir. Right, sir." The Bosun snapped another salute—and was gone.

And again the remaining officers of Cruiser C-57-Dlooked at each other across the table.

Adams said heavily, "That's two..."

Farman said, "Looks like Morbius wasn't fooling aboutthat Force."

I said, "One thing we know now—it's nothing to dowith him. That shot I gave him knocked him out."

Adams said, "What is it then? Some—some left-overKrell?"

There was a silence—which I broke. I said, "There aretoo many things we don't understand. If we got the an­swer to even one of 'em, the rest might fall into place. . ."

They stared at me, puzzled. As well they might be; Iwasn't any too sure myself why I was talking this way.But I went on with it. I said, "Take that monkey—the titi," and told how I'd taken its body out of the tractorand kept it to dissect.

I said, "I was just generally curious about the animals.I'd no idea what I was going to find. Ornot going tofind—"

The way they looked at me made me realize I must beshowing something of what I'd felt down there in thesurgery.

Adams said, "For Christsake, what are you talkingabout?"

I said, "I'm not sure I know. But—well, that monkeywasn't possible. It shouldn't have been living. In my book, it wasn't ever living. And yet we saw it alive. In fact, wekilled it and heard it die!"

Farman said, "Jesus—what're you trying to do? Can'tyou talk English?" He was almost shouting; I supposeour nerves were stretched too tight.

I said, "All right. In plain words for the layman, thetiti didn't have the works for living. Inside, it was a biolo­gist's nightmare. A heart and only two main arteries. Nostomach. No intestines, just a single duct. No veinousnetwork. A chest cavity, but no lungs in it." I found I wasthumping the table. "And no glandular system. Get that,will you? No glands! . . . And everything padded, filled up,with a mass of cross-weaved fibrous tissue no more usethan a stuffing of cotton!"

I don't know how much of my own horror I'd gottenover to them, but at least they were listening. And even thinking. Because Farman said, "What about the brain?"

"I don't know. I hadn't started on the head." I thoughtabout it. "I'm not sure I want to," I said.

There was a long silence, until Adams said, "Okay,Doc—so it's a mystery. And you may be right about theanswer helping with everything else. But we don't havean answer. So right now I'm on another problem. Morbius.He's either got something to do with our troubles, drugor no drug, or he hasn't. And if he hasn't, he might bein trouble himself. Maybe that immunity he talked about isn't holding." He was carefully saying nothing aboutAltaira, but I knew he must be thinking about her. Hesaid, "Either way, he ought to be under guard. To protecthim, or us. Because as soon as this ship's ready, she'staking off. With him on board."

Farman said, "The ship wants a guard too, Skipper.And all hands to work on getting the core back in."

Adams nodded. "That's the trouble, Jerry. How tospare the men. One man even."

I said, "Why not me? You'd be without a doctor—butmy Dresser's as good as most of us with degrees."

Adams looked at me quickly. He almost smiled. "That'san idea, Doc! Quite an idea!"

VI

In less than half an hour, I was in the tractor and on myway, with one of the older Cadet-hands driving me. I hadAdams' belt on, with the audi-video attachment. So Icould keep in touch, Adams had said.

It was certainly a consolatory thought. But still, now Iwas actually en route, with all bridges burned behind me,I wasn't so pleased with myself as I had been when I'dvolunteered.

The desert looked blacker than ever now the moons were high. And my driver gave me a bad ten minutesalong the edge of the chasm. He was a taciturn lad namedRandall, and he seemed unmoved by this trip throughcountry he'd never seen before; country which might verywell house the terrifying, apparently invisible enemy whichhad already torn one man to bloody shreds and spiritedaway another.

I tried to talk to him, but without much success. Hewas called Gabby by his shipmates—and I understoodwhy. I can't say that his apparent nonchalance made mefeel any better; I had more than a suspicion it might beassumed, to cover much the same sort of qualms I washaving myself.

We went through the rocks and down into the valley,and Gabby was moved to words for once. He looked atthe scene, placid in the green moonlight, and said, "Sortanice," and after that effort relapsed into a silence whichlasted until we drew up by the patio.

There was no light behind any of the windows; no sign of life. And no sound from anywhere.

I told him to wait a minute and climbed down andcrossed the patio to the door. As I reached it, I thoughtI saw something move in the bushes which lined the track.I repressed a violent start, and looked carefully, and cameto the conclusion that my eyes—and nerves—had beenfooling me.

I tried the door, and found that it opened. I didn'twant to make any noise and perhaps frighten Altaira, soI went back to the tractor again and spoke softly toGabby. I said, "Everything's all right. You can go back.Thanks."

He nodded. He took his D-R pistol from his holster andlaid it on the seat beside him, and then reached out andtested the spring catch of the manually operated Colt-Vickers slung against the seat. He looked at the house-front with an appraising eye.

"Look pretty with lights on," he said.

He sketched a gesture—half-wave, half-salute—anddrove off...

I stood and watched while the dark bulk of the tractor disappeared into the grove. I didn't envy the boy the lonelydrive back. I felt, all of a sudden, inordinately lonelymyself.

I turned to go back to the house—and found I wasstaring at the black windows and wondering whether,when I went in, I might find the household had beenvisited by the horror which had visited the ship. . .

I put my hand down to my belt—to Adams' belt—andfelt for the audi-video switch and lead. But I checked myself. Adams had enough troubles without my gettingin touch with him every five minutes just because my feetwere cold. Especially before I'd even found out Altaira was all right...

I went quickly to the door and opened it and steppedinto the house. I closed the door behind me—and was inpitch darkness.

Groping in my blouse pocket for a flashlight, I took astep forward—

And crashed painfully into something huge and hard and immovable, I staggered back, my head singing andmy heart in my mouth. I pressed the switch of the flash­light—and saw the dead hulk of the Robot standing therein the center of the entryway...

I swallowed a couple of times. My mouth was so drymy tongue felt swollen and unmanageable. But I got itworking at last and said, "Robby—"

The single glow came on behind the louvres of hisheadpiece. It was like suddenly seeing a friend when you'relost in a forest...

I got him to switch on lights. I walked into the livingroom and he followed me and I asked how Morbius was,and Altaira.

He winked and blinked at me, crackled and whirred.He said, "Doctor Morbius was asleep. Miss Altaira wasasleep."

The past tense had a strange sound, but I realized ithad to be used after periods of deactivation. I said, "Goand see how they are now," and he turned and strodelumberinglv to the rear door.

I was still in the middle of the room, dumping mymusette bag on a chair, when he opened the door—andI heard from the passageway beyond a muffled shoutingin Morbius' voice...

I was across the room in two jumps, rememberingenough to shout at Robby to get out of my way. As heturned to stand flat against the wall and I ran past him,I could see the door of Morbius' room standing open.

I got there in three strides, but not before I'd heardAltaira's voice. I didn't catch the words, but the tonewas low and—rather desperately—soothing. Then Morbiusshouted incoherencies again—and when I reached the doorI saw him struggling with Altaira.

He saw me, and turned away from her and came atme with his arms flailing. He was shouting somethingwhich sounded like, "Don't want to sleep—don't want tosleep—" His movements were spasmodic and badly co­ordinated, and his eyes showed he was still under theinfluence of the drug; so much under the influence it wasamazing he could be on his feet at all.

Altaira gasped when she saw me, staring as if shethought I must be an illusion. But I didn't have time tospeak to her. I was too busy with her father. I side­stepped his rush and grabbed his wrists with one of thoseholds you learn as an interne and never forget.

He struggled wildly. But, drugged as he was, therewasn't much force in him and I got him back to the bedquite easily and sat him on the edge of it.

His eyes closed and his head dropped, but when Ieased him back onto the pillows and started to lift hisfeet, a sort of convulsive tremor shook him and he wasup again, fighting me and shouting a babble of words inwhich I could only hear, don't and sleep.

Altaira came to help me. She was trembling, and therewere tear stains on her face. But she was cool enough anddid exactly as I told her, and before long we had himhalf-sitting, half-lying, across the bed.

His head was resting against the wall, and although hewas motionless his eyes were open. It was odd; when hewasn't actually lying down he seemed quieter. Maybe itwas because somehow—by some almost superhumandetermination—he could keep himself this way fromrelapsing into sleep.

I stood up, slowly and carefully. He didn't move. I saidto Altaira, very quietly, "Stay where you are. I won't bea minute..."

Her blue eyes looked at me in agonized appeal, and Ismiled at her reassuringly. I went out into the passageand found Robby where I'd left him and sent him for mymusette bag.

I went back and leaned against the jamb of Morbius'door, where Altaira could see me. Her father hadn'tmoved; but his eyes were still open.

Robby came back and I took the bag from him andfound my emergency kit and loaded a small syringe witha full c.c. of Hesperidol.

I palmed the syringe and walked back into the door,watching Morbius' eyes as I crossed to him. There was aslight contraction of the pupils, but nothing more. I satdown beside him again, and he muttered something moreabout don't and sleep. I reached for his wrist, and whenhe let me raise it, and pull back his sleeve, I knew I was all right. As the needle pricked him, he winced, and hiseyes rolled toward me. But he didn't move. I don't thinkhe could; the fight he'd put up against the soporific hadtaken everything out of him except that weird determina­tion to stay awake.

I pulled the needle out, carefully. I said, "Don't worry,you won't go to sleep again," and watched his face.

In a few more seconds it relaxed. In a few more he wassmiling the happy, Buddha-like smile Hesperidol alwaysseems to produce. I motioned Altaira to the door, andshe went out slowly, looking back at her father all thetime. I propped him up on pillows, and left him stillsmiling, his eyes wide.

I joined Altaira in the passage. She was wearing a long,robelike sort of thing, and her hair was loose over hershoulders. She looked like a beautiful but very frightenedchild, and I put a hand on her arm and squeezed it reas­suringly, and told her that what I'd given her father was one of the latest hypnotics. I said, "He'll be the way yousaw him for several hours. Perfectly happy, andnot asleep."

She smiled at me. But her lips were quivering and shecouldn't talk. I squeezed her arm again and led her alongto the living room, telling Robby to stay outside Morbius'door and tell us if he tried to get up.

I shut the living room door and settled her in a bigchair and found a decanter of wine in the dining alcoveand poured a glass and made her sip it and got one formyself.

I pulled up another chair and sat to face her—and gother to tell me what had been happening. She was sothankful for my being there that it hadn't occurred to heryet to ask why I was here.

She said, "He—he was asleep for a long time. Forhours. Until just before you came. I was going to bed—then I heard him start shouting. I couldn't understand what he was trying to say. I ran into his room—and—and—" Her voice faltered but she made herself go on.

"I—I was afraid," she said. "He didn't know who Iwas. He kept shouting—he was frightened about sleeping, because of terrible dreams he was having. He hated you—he kept saying your name, over and over. And—andJohn's name—" a slow tide of color swept up from herneck—"and he didn't know who I was!" she repeated."He didn't know who I was! He—he tried to hit me—"

She stopped. I thought there was going to be an out­burst of tears, but she fought them back and I liked hereven more. She raised her glass and took a sip of her wine.

And looked at me. I saw the question I was fearingcome into her eyes. It was mixed with her fear.

She said, "But—but you didn't know. . . Why did youcome? Has anything—has anything happened to John?"

I said, "It's all right, Altaira. Nothing's happened tohim. He's fine. I've come here to look after you and yourfather."

She said, "But why now? Why like this, in the middleof the night? Something must have happened!"

So I had to tell her. I gave no detail except that there'dbeen an attack on the ship, and that one man had beenkilled. I said we hadn't seen the attackers and didn't knowwho or what they were but had figured that, since therewas some mysterious enemy about, and since her fatherwas ill, somebody should be at the house. Adams hadwanted to come, I said, but had had to stay with hiscommand.

She listened to me gravely. She sat there with her eyes on mine. They weren't only beautiful eyes, I found, buthighly intelligent eyes.

She didn't say anything at all when I'd finished. She seemed to be considering everything I'd said. She alsoseemed to be nothing like a child any longer, but a matureand thoughtful woman.

For some reason, I didn't like the silence. So I asked a question which had been constantly recurring in my mind.I said, "Altaira—has your father ever mentioned any possible danger to you. From—from—" I couldn't find anywords and broke off.

She said, "He's told me about the bad things that hap­pened when all the other people were killed. The peoplewho came from Earth, with him and with my mother. Hesays that was why he and Robby made the shutters out­side. He says there was Something that—that hated any­one who wanted to go away and tell about this planet."She stopped for a moment. "But he says It didn't hatehim, or Mother. Because they didn't want to go away. . ."

I was fascinated: Morbius—whom I'd never suspectedof lying, however much circumstances made him seemto be—had told the same story to his child as he hadto us.

Altaira suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair, a handto her mouth and horror darkening her eyes.

She said, "Oh! Do you think— Do you suppose—Could it be my fault? Because—because I don't want tobe here any more? Because I want to go away with John?"

I said quickly, "Of course not. If it was your fault,you'd be the one that would be—would be in trouble.Can't you see that, child?" I wondered whether I wasspeaking the truth or not. I thought I probably was.

Anyway, it worked. The horrified look left her face,and she said suddenly, "I think you're good. I—I likeyou. You feel the same as my father—but not really thesame at all..."

I didn't say anything. But I smiled at her. I felt, maybefoolishly, extraordinarily proud.

Then she said, on an entirely different note, "You— you are a friend of John's, aren't you?" and when I'dnodded decisively, "So you understand? About—aboutwhat has happened to us? To John and to me? . .."

I said, "Yes, Altaira, I understand."

She said, "It's so—so strange. I don't belong to myselfany more. Or to Father. I don't understand it. It's beau­tiful, but it hurts too. And it's rather frightening. . ."

Something of the child was back in her face as shelooked at me, the blue eyes unwavering.

"Do all people know that feeling?" she said. "Do youknow it?"

I said, "The happy people do, Altaira. I do. I know ita little too well, perhaps." I had a fleeting feeling of amaze­ment that I should be talking about Caroline to thischild. I said, "But my reason for feeling that way—well,she isn't alive any more."

I don't think I drenched the statement with pathos; I think I made it the flat statement of fact that it was. Butthe blue eyes were suddenly soft with pity, and she leantforward and laid a hand for a moment over my handwhere it rested on the arm of my chair.

She said, "I'm so sorry... So sorry..."

I sat studying her, not saying anything. I wonderedwhether John Justin Adams deserved her—and came tothe conclusion that he did. I said, "Repaying you, let mestate that I like you. Very much. Very much indeed."

I smiled at her; I'd just thought of something whichshould have occurred to me long before.

I put my hand down to Adams' belt, and felt for theswitch of the audi-video and flipped it on and pulled outthe projector on its shining long lead.

I said, "How would you like to talk to John? Andmaybe see him too?"

She didn't speak, but she didn't have to. One glanceat her was enough.

I put the projector to my mouth and said, "Ostrow call­ing Commander," and almost at once Adams' voice ac­knowledged. I said, "Reporting all sound and secure,Skipper. How's things with you?"

"Nothing new, Doc. Tractor's back okay." His voicewas thin and faraway and metallic, but absolutely clear.

I said, "Morbius was fighting the drug. But I gave him Hesperidol and he's all right. So's everything else—andeveryone." I paused for a moment. "You by yourself?"

I think he was ahead of me. He said, "Yes," and leftit to me.

I said, "Wait a minute—" and opened the finder andheld it so that it would show Altaira for a moment. I un­buckled the belt and slipped it around her and pushedher back into her chair and gave her the projector to holdand showed her how to use it.

"I'm going to take a look at the patient," I said, and as Iwent out heard the fault metallic ghost of Adams' voice.Closing the door behind me, I made for Morbius' room.Outside it, Robby was standing motionless but with thesingle gleam that showed he was alive.

Morbius was still sitting as I'd left him. His eyes movedas he saw me, and he smiled contentedly. I went in andspoke to him. I said, "Are you all right, Doctor Morbius?"and he nodded, more like a bearded Buddha than ever.He could have spoken, I knew, but just didn't see theneed.

Out in the passage again, I looked at my watch, andcalculated it would be long after dawn before he'd comeout of the euphoria. I started back toward the living room—and was only a little way along the passage when I wasstopped dead by an idea...

It was one of those thoughts that come complete, andas fast and illuminating as a flash of lightning. It scaredme, but it was so exciting and so obviously right that Iknew I could beat the intimidation...

I looked at my watch again. I had at least four hours,and that was more than enough. All I had to do was toget Altaira to bed and out of the way. Then I could goahead, provided—

I decided to let the proviso look after itself for the timebeing, and went on to the living room. Altaira had fin­ished her talk with Adams. The belt hung over the armof her chair, and she was sitting back looking into nothing and contemplating the mysterious future.

I didn't have any trouble with her. She was so lost inthe contemplation that when I said her father would beperfectly all right for the next five or six hours, and thatshe should go to bed, she agreed without any fuss at all.She smiled at me and said goodnight, and went calmlyout; as calmly as if she were a schoolgirl and I was UncleFrancis on a week-end visit. Her mind was so full of allthe new wonders that her reactions to me were purely auto­matic—and I didn't wonder. Poor child. Nineteen years ofpeaceful development, and then this sudden bewilderingburst of experience!

When she'd gone, I waited for ten minutes by mywatch. I was so anxious to get going that it seemed a longtime. But it was over at last, and I started for the far endof the room and Morbius' study.

And then stopped half-way, and went quickly back tothe dining alcove and found the wall-switch Morbius hadused to show us the armored shutters.

I pressed it—and in one silent flash the windows weredarkened, cutting out the pale green moonlight.

Pleased with myself for the precaution, I promptly for­got it and went back across the room again. I was almostrunning when I started, but going much slower when I reached the study door. I was afraid, and with a double-edged sort of fear. I was afraid the one proviso mightstop me doing what I was planning; and I was afraid of theplan itself.

I slid back the door and lights came on as it openedfully. I took a deep breath, and walked in and around tothe ell.

The proviso wasn't against me. The Krell door wasstanding open, as Morbius had left it when he led usout...

I filled my lungs again. I seemed to be having troublebreathing, and my heart was pounding uncomfortably.

I went through the strange-shaped arch, ducking myhead a little, and walked down the rock corridor. My foot­steps rang with a soft, hollow echoing.

I came out of the corridor and into the great oval of thelaboratory. I stopped—and the silence as the sound ofmy footsteps died away was like a blow; it was as if I'dhit some padded, invisible barrier.

I crossed slowly to the railed-off island in the center.

I sat where Morbius had sat, and reached out for the head-set of what the Krells had called the Gateway.

I put the thing on my head, adjusting the pliable armsuntil the electrodes were as Morbius had fitted them, one on each temple, the third on the cranium.

I tried to make myself calm, but my heart still poundedtoo hard. In my mind I went over everything Morbius hadsaid, and wished it had been more.

I leaned over and pressed the first switch inside the railand looked up at the panel and saw the pathetic littleglow of my registration.

The white switch was just by my hand. I only had tomove my fingers an inch or so to the right.

For one irrelevant instant, I thought of John Adamsand wondered what he would think if he could see me,and what he was doing now—

SEVEN

Commander J. J. Adams

That was a hell of a night. There was nothing I could do.There was nothing anybody could do. Except keep a tightguard and wait.

I didn't dare start work on the core till daylight in caseof another attack. So I wandered in and out of the ship,making sure everybody was on their toes.

They were. Who wouldn't have been after seeing what happened to Lonnie? And wondering whether it had beenworse for Dirocco?

And I kept thinking about Doc. I couldn't help it, be­cause every tune I thought about Altaira I naturally had tothink about him too. A wonderful guy. It took guts to goout there alone. Especially after scraping poor Lonnie offthe sand and knowing what got him might get you too.

I was keeping myself busy collecting all Lonnie's per­sonal kit when the man on radar beeped me. I ran up toControl and found him scratching his head. He'd hadnothing on the first attack, but now he'd had a flicker he couldn't make out. It wasn't right for any of the standardreadings, but he said it had been definite.

I watched his viewer with him, but we got nothing. Heshowed me the sector where he'd seen the flicker. It was the same as the one the attack had come from.

So I went out and grabbed the Bosun. We were walkingover to that section, when another one sparked, way off tothe right.

This one worked. All the other panels reacted and thewhole thing came alive. The searchlight swung around, following me to the contact point while the Bosun broughtup a concentration of fire-power behind me.

I could hear something moving out there, scuffling inthe sand. And breathing. Not like that other breathing.Lighter, smaller.

The searchlight weaved about. But it didn't pick upwhatever was making the sound. I could hear it all thetime though. There was a big patch of shadow out therefrom a dune. It might be in that, I figured. Or it might notbe see-able. Like the first thing.

I had the gun out of my holster. I was just going to trya blast or two at the shadow-patch when the searchlight pinned something. A sort of dark hulk in the sand. As ifwhatever-it-was was burrowing up and out.

The Bosun gave out with a "Ready!" to the gunners.But the thing moved again and I saw what it was. I hol­lered a "Hold fire!" and it stood up and came weavingtowards the fence.

It looked like a man covered with sand.

It was. It was the Cook, Dirocco.

He seemed in bad shape. He was went double, holdingan arm over his face as he staggered on. Somebodyswitched off the fence and I ran out to him. He fell on myfeet and lay there. He was groaning. The Bosun ran upand we knelt down and turned him over.

The reek hit us as he let out a gasp. The Bosun said,"What the ****!" and I said, "Whisky, for Christsake!"

II

They brought him up to me in Control around an hourlater. It was beginning to get light outside. The Bosun hadhim under Class One Arrest. If I hadn't been so damnmystified, I'd've laughed. Cookie, the ship's character,with a godawful hangover and not a wisecrack in a car­load.

They'd scrubbed him and put him in clean overalls.Doc's man had pumped him out. He was a sorry littleman. He stood so stiff at attention he was shaking.

I said to the Bosun, "Did you check the hands' liquorration?" And he said, "Yessir. All correct. And there's nowhisky in it anyway, sir."

I looked at Cookie. "Where d'you get it?" I said. "Andhow the hell did you get through the fence?"

He was so low he was nearly crying. I told him to pullhimself together and he did his best.

He started with something that brought me out of my chair. He said, "It was that Robby that started it, sir—theRobot—"

When I'd calmed down he went on and told the damn­dest yarn. So unbelievable it had to be true. He remindedme he'd been talking to Robby yesterday and I'd calledhim for leaving post. He said what he'd been talking aboutwas liquor. He'd got the idea over the grapevine the Robot could manufacture anything synthetically. So he'd slippedit the last two inches of a private stock of rye, and toldit to whip up ten gallons and deliver it some time today.Without anybody knowing. He'd even picked a place forthe cache; behind the rocks Doc and I had walked out toa couple of tunes.

That was the gist of it. Because Robby had delivered,andwithout anyone knowing. And Cookie had slipped outthrough the fence when it was switched off to let me andDoc through with the tractor.

I stared at the character. I still might have laughed, butnow I wasn't just mystified. I was mad. When I thoughtof what had been going on while this sot was drinkinghimself to a stupor three hundreds yards away, I could'vechoked him.

But I didn't. I just threw the book at him. And toldthe Bosun to take him away. And to keep on his tail. For­ever.

I took another walk around outside. And talked to Jerryfor a minute. And then came back and went on with thejob of getting Lonnie's stuff together.

When it was in my safe, I sent for the Bosun and fixedfor a funeral at zero seven hundred. That'd give him timeto have a fatigue party dig a grave after daylight.

I felt bad about Lonnie. The worst thing seemed to bethat he hadn't even seen that underground set-up of the Krells. I worried about that. I suddenly wanted to talk to Doc about it—and to Altaira. But then I remembered she didn't know Lonnie, hadn't ever set eyes on him. ..

III

At zero seven hundred we had the funeral. The Emer­gency Active Service Abbreviated version. I felt sick atmy stomach as I read the stuff. Which was funny. I'dthought the words were pretty good before.

Farman and the Bosun lowered the sack into the grave,and I gave the word for a two volley salute.

And that was over. Lonnie Quinn was over.

I had the Bosun and two men fill in the sand and put upthe marker while Jerry got the rest lined up in front of thegangway. So I could talk to them.

I climbed up and looked them over. They were allright. They had that rough-edged look about them goodspacehogs get when they're in trouble and ready to fightout of it.

I gave it to them pretty straight. I told them enough ofwhat was going on and how our job was to get the re­mains of the Bellerophon party back home. But, I said, wecouldn't start till the auxiliary core was back in the ship.And that was going to be a long chore. Especially with­out Mr. Quinn. However, the sooner we got it done, thesooner we could lift off.

I said, "We're all plenty mad about Mr. Quinn. But thisis no time to stick around being heroes fighting somethingwe can't see..."

I said, "And if anyone wants to say we're running—well, they're right!"

It got the laugh I wanted—and I put 'em to work. . .

IV

It was around eleven hundred before I got a chance tobuzz Doc with no one else around. I didn't use the bigscreen in Control because of the radar man. I used thelittle set in my cabin.

I had a bad five minutes. That was how long it took meto raise an acknowledgment from him. And five minutes isa long time.

But I got him. He said, "Ostrow accepting call," butdidn't open his view projector.

I said, "What's wrong?" and he said, "Nothing."

So I told him how long it had taken to get him. I said, "Open that viewer."

He opened it, but it took him too long.

What I got was a close-up. Or he'd meant it to be. Buthe wasn't used to handling the gear and gave me morethan he wanted to. I could see he was in that goddamnlab. And I could see where he was sitting.

I said, "Everything okay here. How's your end?"

He said, "All right. Morbius isn't out of euphoria—andAltaira's still asleep. No excursion, no alarums." Hesounded funny, sort of excited.

I let him have it. I said, "And what the hell are youdoing in the lab?"

It shook him. He started to stammer something but Icut in on him. I said, "You're monkeying around with thatbrain booster. You idiot!"

He let his excitement come to the top. "Listen, John!"he said. "This is wonderful! One more little session and I'll have all the answers for you—"

I said, "Christ, man, you might kill yourself!"

He was in real close-up on my screen now and I sawhe wasn't looking too good. Older and sort of fine-drawn.But I couldn't be sure.

He said, "John, I'm all right! I'm being careful—a fewminutes at a time's all I allow myself—"

He was going on, but I had to stop him. My communi­cator beeped and I knew I'd have to go. I told Doc soand said, "For Christ's sake, watch out for yourself! Buzzyou later."

I switched off and went to the communicator and foundI was wanted outside. Some question about the quick orslow way to hoist the core...

V

The men really worked. I'd figured we couldn't evenget the core as far as the upper chamber before it was sodark we'd have to quit and go back to full guard again.But they actually had it inside the chamber before eighteenhundred. And after that the work could go on, dark outsideor not.

I called a break for food. The first one. Up to nowthey'd just had coffee and A. S. rations dished out while they were working...

Farman arranged reliefs—half strength on guard, halfeating. He stayed outside with the first guard himself.

It was eighteen thirty when the first shift started to eat.Outside it was nearly dark, with the moons not comingup yet.

It was eighteen thirty-five when the first alarm came.From radar. The Cadet who was on it jumped up andshouted, "Commander—Commander!"

I was over to him in a couple of jumps. He pointed tohis viewer and I saw a whole lot of flickers. Faint nick­ers, not real readings. They seemed to be all around ourperimeter, and a long way from it.

I said, "What's the distance?" and the kid said, "Coupleof miles, sir. Maybe more." He was nervous. "But that'snot a true reaction on the screen there. It—it—I don'tknow what it is..."

I told him to keep watching. I grabbed the communi­cator mike and roared "All out to posts! Possible attack!"

I pulled a manual Colt-Vickers from the rack, grabbeda spare audi-vid belt and ran out of the ship. It was dark as pitch. Until the searchlight flicked on and began tosearch. I waited till the Bosun reported, "All on post,"and then grabbed him and told him to check the gunners in the ship and stay at gun control and switch on theaudi-video there so I could use mine as a command mike.I wondered if the boy on radar had had the sense to switchon his. I tried it and found he had. I said, "Still got theflickers?" and his voice came back clear, "Yessir. More of 'em. All around. They're closer. Say a mile."

I cut him off and switched to gun-control. And got theBosun right away; he'd made good time. I said, "This is afire order. Traverse the whole perimeter—three blasts asecond. Range one mile and down."

He gave me a "Command understood" beep, and fifteen seconds later the two big blasters were spraying around thecircle. They lit up the whole desert in a band of zig-zagflashes a hundred yards deep.

But the flashes showed nothing. Nor did the searchlight.I could hear the men muttering.

I buzzed radar again, and the boy said, "Still all aroundsir. Moving in." I could hear him gulp. "Those blastsshould've fixed 'em. But they didn't—"

I said, "What's the distance now?" and he said, "Around half, sir—"

I cut him off and got the Bosun. I said, "Fire order.Come down to half range for three bursts. Then shift downa quarter and repeat."

He beeped the caller in acknowledgment, and a coupleof seconds later both guns started again.

This tune they were on one orbit after another with nopaused in between. The zig-zag flashes were a steady stream.They drowned out the searchlight and showed up the wholering of desert. Every grain of the goddamn red sand.

There was still nothing to see.

Then radar buzzed me. The kid's voice was gettinghigher all the time. He said, "Sir—sir—there's only one flicker now. Real big. The other ones've gone! But this isbig! And bright—"

I said, "How near? And where?"

"Close, sir. Not more than a hundred yards!" He gaveme a bearing.

It was right on the fence-panel where the thing gotthrough before.

I cut him off and yelled to Farman to draw the menback. Right up against the ship.

He had 'em there in double time. The guns had stopped blasting and it was dark all over. Except where the search­light cut into the black like a knife.

I was buzzing gun control when the fence reacted tosomething.

The same way it had when we'd thought the continuerhad shorted. The jets were weak, not joining. And theother panels didn't light up.

I heard the Bosun's voice over my receiver. I said,"Both guns on that live section of fence."

While I was speaking the live section died, and one ofthe post sagged, melting.

I roared at Jerry to open fire with everything he had.Same target.

I was standing half way up the gangplank. The search­light was already on the panel of fence, lighting a patchabout twenty yards square. And then the guns started.And the hand-blasters and the manual Colt-Vickers andall the D-R pistols. All converging fire on the same panel.

The whole target area lit up like the third floor of hell.If a bug had been there we'd have had to see it.

But we saw what I'd expected. Nothing.

Until one of the men, right beside the gangway, stoppedfiring.

It was young Grey. I don't know how I heard him overall that hell-racket, but I did.

"The footprints!" he yelled. "Look at the footprints!"

I saw them while he was still screaming. They were likethe others. Only this time we were watching them beingmade. By something we couldn't see. The first one wasjust inside the fence. The sand puckered and then the holecame and the sand poured down into it.

The second footprint came—about twenty feet nearer.

Jerry Farman must have seen it. I heard him shout, andthen I saw him. He was running like a bat out of hell, straight at the thing. Or at where it ought to be. He hadone of the techs' nuclear welders in his hands, holding itlike an old-style flame-thrower. It was jetting out a streakof blue flame twenty feet ahead of him. He must havefigured that if blasters wouldn't touch the thing maybe aburst of what they used to call hydro-fire might do it.

I yelled at him, but he didn't stop. I took a runningjump off the gangway and tried to start after him.

But I wasn't in time. About ten feet in front of the lastfootprint, he seemed to stop. It was the damndest thing.The welder fell out of his hands. His body bent back andhis feet came off the ground. He went up. And up. He waskicking and throwing his arms around.

Then his body began to dodge and swing in the air. Twenty feet over our heads. He looked like a limp dollbeing shaken.

I remembered Morbius saying, "Like rag dolls. . ." andthen something about a crazy child.

I guess it didn't last more than a second.

He was raised up higher, his head and his legs and hisarms all jerking. And he was hurled—right at the side ofthe ship. Right above the center of the line of men there.

He—he smashed against it. I could feel the impact makea tremor in the gangplank under my feet.

What was left of his body thudded down on the sandlike a half-empty sack.

The men scattered. There was only one thing to do. Iyelled at them to get back in the ship. The firing had dieddown and most of them heard me. Those that didn't sawme waving them up the gangway.

They began to run for it. I went forward to try and cover them. I still hung onto the Colt-Vickers. I evenfired a burst, though what good it would be I didn't know.

All the men made it except a couple of stragglers racingup. They must have panicked and gone too far when JerryFarman's body hit the ship. One of them was Grey. Heshot past me, and almost had a foot on the gangway whenit happened.

Another of the footprints came, closer to the ship. Be­tween me and the ship. Grey screamed and fell, face inthe sand. And a huge invisible weight slammed down on his back. Then the boy's body was pushed—stamped—down into the sand. The sand covered him. Except forone leg sticking up like a dead branch.

The other straggler got to the gangway. He was halfwayup it when he was caught.

And then he screamed. It was a worse sound thanGrey's. He was lifted up. Higher than Farman had been.He dangled in the air.

I'll never get it out of my mind. Never. Twenty, thirtyfeet up in the air, he was—he was pulled apart...

Then he was thrown away. Dropped.

Rag dolls...

They were shouting at me from the ship. The Bosuncame out at the top of the gangway and started firing.

I found myself backing up. Until I was against the sideof the ship. There was nothing else to do. Except run.And where would that have got me?

There was another footprint. And another. The thingwas backing away from the gangway. It was turning. To­ward me. I suddenly heard the breathing again.

The Bosun came farther down the gangway. I shoutedat him to go back. But he stayed there, firing burst afterburst. All useless. I fired again. Useless.

Then something happened to my eyes. The searchlightbeam was pouring down between me and the gangway.And where the edge of it faded into the dark, I saw some­thing. Or thought I did.

A shape. Flickering and misty. I didn't know how muchI was seeing; how much my imagination was filling in.

It was there, almost over me. So big it was everything.Everything except me.

I couldn't move. I don't know whether I was afraid or whether I'd gone past being afraid. But I couldn't move.

Then my eyes cleared. That's what it felt like anyway.Now I could only see the searchlight. There wasn't any­thing between me and the beam. Nothing.

Not even anything invisible.

And there weren't any more of the footprints.

But I knew the thing that made them had gone. I don'tknow how I knew. But I knew. There wasn't any doubt.

I suppose I felt it go. Doc could have described it.

But the men knew too. The Bosun came down thegangway and up to me. I was leaning against the side ofthe ship. My legs felt weak.

Some of the other men started down. But I made theBosun order them back. I pushed myself upright andstarted for the gangway. I was a bit unsteady, and theBosun tried to help me.

I shoved him away. I pulled myself together and madeit under my own power...

VI

I don't know how long it took to get the whole crewback to normal. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. With the gangway pulled in and the ship sealed tight, they all feltbetter. But they let go. The hands with more experience were in better shape than the greenwings. But that wasn'tsaying much.

I dished out double shots of liquor ration to the steadier ones and had Doc's man, who was in pretty good shape,examine the bad cases and dope 'em up with pills or ashot. I got Cookie pulled together and started him brew­ing coffee by the vatful.

As soon as I could I got off to my cabin. I shut myselfin and switched on the audi-vid and buzzed Doc.

I got no answer.

I buzzed for ten minutes more. With the same result.

Had they been attacked out there? When I thought ofAltaira I nearly went out of my mind.

It didn't change what I was going to do. It made it athousand times more urgent.

I got hold of myself and went up to Control and foundthe Bosun. He already had Nevski and two more techsdown in the upper drive chamber working on the core. Itold him to collect everybody else, right here.

There was only twelve, counting him.

I gave them a quick brief. I told them we had two ob­jectives: Get the ship flyable and fetch Major Ostrow andthe Bellerophon people.

I said, "We're four short now, and all of you have essen­tial jobs. So I'm leaving the ship under the Bosun's com­mand and taking the tractor out to get Major Ostrow andthe Bellerophon people myself."

I'd worked it out. It was the only way. I knew theroute, I knew Morbius. And I had the rank and authorityto deal with him—if there was anything left to deal with.If I didn't go myself, I'd have to send more than one man.Which might delay everything.

I said, "That's all. Remember you're better off in herethan outside. And don't forget the quicker the ship's flyable,the quicker we'll get away."

I let it sink in a minute and then asked if there were anycomments.

There weren't. There wasn't a murmur. I checked myequipment over, and took the Bosun to the entry portto let me out. I said, "The ship ought to be ready in acouple of hours. If I'm longer than that without buzzing,you buzz me. If there's another attack before the core'sseated—" I shrugged—"stick in the ship and use yourown judgment. If there's one after you can lift, take off.Get up as high as you like, and cruise and try to contact me. Use Cadet Starza as Pilot, Levin for Astrogator.

"If everything goes wrong and you're stuck for the tripback without me, use those two. All the time. They'regood. And Nevski as Chief Dev." I thought a minute. "Iguess that's it."

He said, "Aye aye, sir," old style. He slid the big barback from the entry port and swung it out and looked allaround.

I pushed him aside and ducked through.

He said, "Good luck, sir," and I ran down the gang­way and over to the tractor ...

EIGHT

Commander J. J. Adams

Concluded

I drove the tractor flat out the whole way. The moonswere up now and I didn't need lights.

The faster I went and the nearer I got, the worse I felt.I couldn't get rid of the notion that if I'd buzzed Docsooner he might have been able to get back to the shipwith Altaira—maybe even with Morbius—by using theRobot and that sled thing.

But then I figured they might have been running intodanger instead of out...

I shot by the chasm and across to that wall of rock andthrough the break in it. I went down into the valley sofast the tractor seemed to be leaving the ground. .

I had to brake when I hit the curve into the grove. But Itook it too fast anyway and tilted the whole job in spite of the gyros. For a second I thought I was over but then theytook hold and we came back onto all eight wheels. The joltsnapped my neck and I slowed up. I was so near thehouse the sick feeling in my stomach almost got me.

I came out of the grove and around the end of the rock.There were lights behind the windows. They shone outover the patio.

I stopped so fast the wheels screamed on the dirt. Ivaulted over the side and ran across the patio to the door.There wasn't a sound except my boots on the tiles.

I was pushing at the door when it opened.

And there was Altaira.

She was all right.

I couldn't talk. I reached out and put my arms aroundher and held her.

She felt wonderful. She was wonderful.

She didn't understand what was the matter with me.She knew I'd been scared about her. But she didn't knowwhy.

I couldn't tell her. There wasn't any time. I pushed herinside and pulled the door shut behind me. And startedfiring questions at her. "Where's Doc? Where's yourfather? How is he? Has anything happened?" Now that I knew she was all right, everything else was crowding me.

She didn't get rattled. She said, "Father's all right. He's much better. He was asleep for about two hours, and thenhe waked. He's in his room."

"And Doc?" I said.

She frowned. She looked worried. She said, "I—I thinkhe's in the—the laboratory. He's been in there severaltimes. Father would be terribly angry if he knew—"

I had to ask her another question. Nothing to do withthe present troubles. But I had to ask. I said, "Altaira, howmuch do you know about that lab? And what goes onthere?"

"I only know what father's told me." She looked moreworried than she had before. "That it was the Krells'—and that now he works in there. Trying to find out aboutthem, about their civilization." She shivered. "I don't likeit. I don't like anyone going in there."

I put my arm around her. I said, "Neither do I. . . Let'sgo get Doc out of it."

We went through the living-room to the study. The doorin the rock was open.

I said to Altaira, "Wait, darling," and started for thearch. She said, "Let me come with you," in a funny littlevoice.

Then I heard somebody walking through the tunnel. Iremembered the way our footsteps had echoed. Just likethis.

I looked through the arch—and it was Doc.

I stood back. He ducked his head and came out. Istarted to say something, and then swallowed it as I sawhim in the light.

He looked terrible. Stooped and shaky and ten yearsolder. And there were dark stains on the skin around histemples. Purple-black, like bruises. Or burns.

He gave me a smile. But it wasn't right. It wasn't him.

He said, "Hi, John—I knew you were coming—" Hisvoice sounded the way he looked.

He came out into the room. And his legs gave. He wasfalling when I caught him.

He felt—light. I picked him up and carried him overto a couch against the wall. Altaira ran out to the living room and came back with a cushion. I said, "Christ, Doc!I told you to watch it—" I was looking at the marks on histemples. They were just where the electrodes on thatgoddamn Krell machine would have been.

He didn't say anything until we'd got him lying down.

Then he said, "Sorry, John. . ." His voice still didn'tsound right. It was too old. Too tired. But he made abetter try at a smile than the first one.

He said, "It's funny—you were right all the time—"and then stopped. He seemed to be looking at Altaira.

I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. I was worried sick about him. I asked Altaira to get him some­thing. Wine—anything.

She was off in a flash. I sat on the edge of the couch andhe took hold of my arm. He said, "Quick—before shecomes back. What I meant—you were right about Mor­bius— But—but—he doesn't know it—" He'd been try­ing to sit up but now his head dropped back on thecushion.

His eyes were closed, and his face was a sort of dirty-grey. His breath was coming quick and light. He said,"Not much time. . ." His voice was so weak I had to bendmy head to hear him. "I took too long this time. . . Iknew I was, but I couldn't help it..."

He tried to sit up again but I pushed him back. He said,"John—I know all of it—all those answers—I wrote itdown—in case— Even just now—"

His eyes closed again. His face was like wax and themarks on the temples looked black.

Altaira came back. She knelt by the couch and slidher arm under his head. She had a glass in her otherhand. I stood up, out of her way.

She tried to lift his head up. She said, "Try and drinkthis. Please!"

His eyes opened. He smiled at her. It was a real Docsmile. He said, "—isn't time, dear—" The smile went andhe moved his eyes to look at me.

I went nearer and bent down. He said, "John—John—on the table by—by—"

His voice went away. His lips were moving. But nosound was coming. His eyes closed again and he drew abig breath. It had a rattling sound in it.

I heard myself say, "Doc—Doc—!" The words cameout without my knowing.

His face twisted, with the eyes still closed. He madeone last tremendous effort.

He said, "By the gate—the Krell gate—"

The rattle in his breathing came again. And his wholebody twitched. I thought he was gone.

But then his eyes opened. They weren't looking atAltaira. They weren't looking at me. They were looking atsomething—somebody—we couldn't see.

He smiled. It was the damndest thing, but while he wassmiling he looked young.

"Caroline!" he said.

His voice was loud. It sounded young too.

He twitched again, and his head dropped back.

This time he was gone. I felt for a heartbeat but knew Iwouldn't find any.

I straightened. Slowly. I took Altaira by the elbows andlifted her up. There were tears in her eyes.

I've seen a lot of men die. A lot of them were friends. I'd lost two others who were almost friends that day.

But I never felt the way I felt about Doc. Maybe I neverwill again.

It was quite a while before I could say anything. Butthen I said, "Cover him up. Get something and cover him up." I was surprised when I heard myself saying it.

Altaira didn't speak. But she put her hands on each sideof my face and kissed me.

And then went out.

I couldn't look at Doc any more. I walked over to theother side of the room. And tried to pull myself together.What was that he'd been saying about a gate?

The Krell gate was what he'd said. He'd been trying totell me about something he'd written. . . All the answers,he'd said....

It suddenly hit me. I could hear Morbius' voice in myhead—"... symbols... Krell writings..."

I whipped around and went to the door in the rock. Iducked under the arch and took the corridor on the run.

I came out into the big space of the lab. I cut over to the center and stopped by the chair Morbius had sat inwhile he was showing us the damn machine.

The chair was swiveled to face out. The way Doc musthave left it.

I didn't like the feel of the damn place. All around methe lights were blinking on and off in the relay boxes. Andthe thing Morbius had called 'the library' stood there likea goddamned box organ. And the chair that way—staringat me.

The headpiece of the 'Gateway' thing was hanging on itshooks behind the rail. The arms were bent, and the elec­trodes made me think of the marks on Doc's temples.My audi-vid belt was hanging over the rail.And there was something on the seat next to Doc's. Asquare box, with what looked like a book on top of it.

I picked it up. It was Doc's Service notebook, with"C. X. Ostrow" stamped in the leather.

I opened it. Half the pages had been torn out to get tothe unused part. The top one of what was left was coveredwith Doc's neat writing. It began—"For Commander J. J.Adams." And under that it said, "Dear John," like aletter.

There were more pages of the writing. I slipped thebook into my pocket. I wanted to get out of here toread it.

I was starting away when I remembered the box. I wentback and picked it up. It was dark plastic about six inches square and eight deep. It must have been in Doc's med kit.It was heavy.

I opened it. There was a stack of what looked like thin plates of the Krell metal inside. A lot of them. On top was a slip of paper with more of Doc's writing.

It read: "John— If anything happens to me, KEEPTHESE! I think they're recordings. On some incrediblecerebro-micro-wave system. DON'T LOSE THEM."

I took the box. And got out of the place quicker than I'dcome in. The echos of my feet sounded too loud. Louderthan when I'd come in.

I ducked under the arch and was back in the study. Itfelt good.

Altaira was by the couch. She was unfolding somethingthat looked like a blanket. But it was smooth and soft.And the material sort of glowed.

She looked at me and I dragged the notebook out of my pocket and held it up.

I said, "Doc left me a letter. In this."

She said, "You must read it."

She laid the cloth gently over Doc, covering his face.

I went to the writing table and sat on a corner of it. I opened the notebook and began to read. . .