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<s> THE STAR-SENT KNAVES BY KEITH LAUMER Illustrated by Gaughan [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When the Great Galactic Union first encounters Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one. Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings. That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you. Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers. Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it— Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today! Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded. Now, wait a minute— Kelly started. What's that? Snithian cut in. You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night— Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped. —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished. Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside. The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken. By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault. Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees. I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover. Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door. Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work? A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded. Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs. The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin. I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto. Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half. I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else? I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists. Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it. I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much. I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it. I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am. I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat. It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever. Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving. <doc-sep>A few weeks of this and I became a bit dazed. And then there was the problem of everyday existence. You might sayit's lucky to be an N/P for a while. I've heard people say that. Basicneeds provided, worlds of leisure time; on the surface it soundsattractive. But let me give you an example. Say it is monthly realfood day. You goto the store, your mouth already watering in anticipation. You takeyour place in line and wait for your package. The distributor takesyour coupon book and is all ready to reach for your package—and thenhe sees the fatal letters N/P. Non-Producer. A drone, a drain upon theState. You can see his stare curdle. He scowls at the book again. Not sure this is in order. Better go to the end of the line. We'llcheck it later. You know what happens before the end of the line reaches the counter.No more packages. Well, I couldn't get myself off N/P status until I got a post, andwith my name I couldn't get a post. Nor could I change my name. You know what happens when you try tochange something already on the records. The very idea of wantingchange implies criticism of the State. Unthinkable behavior. That was why this curious dream voice shocked me so. The thing that itsuggested was quite as embarrassing as its non-standard, emotional,provocative tone. Bear with me; I'm getting to the voice—to her —in a moment. I want to tell you first about the loneliness, the terrible loneliness.I could hardly join group games at any of the rec centers. I could joinno special interest clubs or even State Loyalty chapters. Although Idabbled with theoretical research in my own quarters, I could scarcelysubmit any findings for publication—not with my name attached. Apseudonym would have been non-regulation and illegal. But there was the worst thing of all. I could not mate. <doc-sep> Mr. Dawes came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol. Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker. Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before. Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter? Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity. Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair. Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting. Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be. Supper! Mom called. After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten. He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving. I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy. Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that. Goodnight, Dawes said. Goodnight. He read Sally's copy of Treasure Island for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes. He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ... Then sleep came. <doc-sep>About half an hour later, the door he couldn't open slid aside into thewall. The man Maitland had seen outside, now clad in gray trunks andsandals, stood across the threshold looking in at him. Maitland stoodup and stared back, conscious suddenly that in his rumpled pajamas hemade an unimpressive figure. The fellow looked about forty-five. The first details Maitland noticedwere the forehead, which was quite broad, and the calm, clear eyes.The dark hair, white at the temples, was combed back, still damp fromswimming. Below, there was a wide mouth and a firm, rounded chin. This man was intelligent, Maitland decided, and extremely sure ofhimself. Somehow, the face didn't go with the rest of him. The man had the headof a thinker, the body of a trained athlete—an unusual combination. Impassively, the man said, My name is Swarts. You want to know whereyou are. I am not going to tell you. He had an accent, European, butotherwise unidentifiable. Possibly German. Maitland opened his mouthto protest, but Swarts went on, However, you're free to do all theguessing you want. Still there was no suggestion of a smile. Now, these are the rules. You'll be here for about a week. You'll havethree meals a day, served in this room. You will not be allowed toleave it except when accompanied by myself. You will not be harmed inany way, provided you cooperate. And you can forget the silly idea thatwe want your childish secrets about rocket motors. Maitland's heartjumped. My reason for bringing you here is altogether different. Iwant to give you some psychological tests.... Are you crazy? Maitland asked quietly. Do you realize that at thismoment one of the greatest hunts in history must be going on? I'lladmit I'm baffled as to where we are and how you got me here—but itseems to me that you could have found someone less conspicuous to giveyour tests to. Briefly, then, Swarts did smile. They won't find you, he said. Now,come with me. <doc-sep></s>

Dan Slane is in Clyde Snithian's office; he proposes that, in response to a recent slew of art thefts, he guard Snithian's art vault overnight in addition to the external security he has. Dan is suspicious about the thefts and has a theory that the crooks are entering from within the vaults, perhaps through time travel. Snithian refuses to hire Dan, but Kelly, head of security, hires him in secret. That night, Dan guards from within the vault, keeping himself occupied with sleep and food, when a strange, cage like contraption appears out of thin air. Two men emerge, named Manny and Fiorello, and Dan hesitantly confronts them. While Dan speaks to them, Kelly's voice suddenly booms from a hidden speaker in the room, under the impression that Dan had been in on the thefts. Dan wrestles Manny and Fiorello off and manages to take control of the carrier and escape. Not knowing how to control it, Dan finds himself passing through many rooms and settings, until the carrier finally settles in an office room of a skyscraper. There, Dan meets Blote, a strange, giant-like creature, who asks him what happened to Manny and Fiorello. Blote, the apparent head of the art schemes, requests that Dan join the team to replace them. Dan refuses, and asks about the carrier, referring to it as a time machine; Blote is perplexed, unaware of the concept of a time machine, and demands that Dan find one in exchange for a reward, and for avoiding trouble for trespassing. Dan, unsure of where to retrieve a time machine, bluffs and manages to take Blote back to Snithian's, where he abandons him. Suddenly, Dan hears a siren, and the carrier travels to a park. The carrier becomes frosted over as a man emerges to confront him. The man introduces himself as an agent of the Inter-Dimensional Monitor Service.

<s> THE STAR-SENT KNAVES BY KEITH LAUMER Illustrated by Gaughan [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When the Great Galactic Union first encounters Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one. Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings. That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you. Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers. Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it— Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today! Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded. Now, wait a minute— Kelly started. What's that? Snithian cut in. You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night— Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped. —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished. Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside. The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken. By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault. Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees. I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover. Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door. Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work? A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded. Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet. <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep> The Sense of Wonder By MILTON LESSER Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When nobody aboard ship remembers where it's going, how can they tell when it has arrived? Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watchthe great changeless sweep of space. He could not quite explain thefeelings within him; they were so alien, so unnatural. But ever sincethe engines somewhere in the rear of the world had changed their tone,from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of hislife, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings hadgrown. If anyone else had noticed the change, he failed to mention it. Thisdisturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he hadrealized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up insidehim. Today, space looked somehow different. The stars—it was a meaninglessconcept to Rikud, but that was what everyone called the brightpinpoints of light on the black backdrop in the viewport—were notapparent in the speckled profusion Rikud had always known. Instead,there was more of the blackness, and one very bright star set apartby itself in the middle of the viewport. If he had understood the term, Rikud would have told himself this wasodd. His head ached with the half-born thought. It was—it was—whatwas it? Someone was clomping up the companionway behind Rikud. He turned andgreeted gray-haired old Chuls. In five more years, the older man chided, you'll be ready to sirechildren. And all you can do in the meantime is gaze out at the stars. Rikud knew he should be exercising now, or bathing in the rays of thehealth-lamps. It had never occurred to him that he didn't feel like it;he just didn't, without comprehending. Chuls' reminder fostered uneasiness. Often Rikud had dreamed of thetime he would be thirty and a father. Whom would the Calculator selectas his mate? The first time this idea had occurred to him, Rikudignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feelinghe could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other manhad? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it alwaysembroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with aheadache? Chuls said, It is time for my bath in the health-rays. I saw you hereand knew it was your time, too.... His voice trailed off. Rikud knew that something which he could notexplain had entered the elder man's head for a moment, but it haddeparted almost before Chuls knew of its existence. I'll go with you, Rikud told him. <doc-sep>In the evening a girl brought Maitland his meal. As the door slidaside, he automatically stood up, and they stared at each other forseveral seconds. She had the high cheekbones and almond eyes of an Oriental, skin thatglowed like gold in the evening light, yet thick coiled braids ofblonde hair that glittered like polished brass. Shorts and a sleevelessblouse of some thick, reddish, metallic-looking fabric clung to herbody, and over that she was wearing a light, ankle-length cloak of whatseemed to be white wool. She was looking at him with palpable curiosity and something likeexpectancy. Maitland sighed and said, Hello, then glanced downself-consciously at his wrinkled green pajamas. She smiled, put the tray of food on the table, and swept out, her cloakbillowing behind her. Maitland remained standing, staring at the closeddoor for a minute after she was gone. Later, when he had finished the steak and corn on the cob and shreddedcarrots, and a feeling of warm well-being was diffusing from hisstomach to his extremities, he sat down on the bed to watch the sunsetand to think. There were three questions for which he required answers before hecould formulate any plan or policy. Where was he? Who was Swarts? What was the purpose of the tests he was being given? It was possible, of course, that this was all an elaborate schemefor getting military secrets, despite Swarts' protestations to thecontrary. Maitland frowned. This place certainly didn't have theappearance of a military establishment, and so far there had beennothing to suggest the kind of interrogation to be expected fromforeign intelligence officers. It might be better to tackle the first question first. He looked atthe Sun, a red spheroid already half below the horizon, and tried tothink of a region that had this kind of terrain. That prairie out therewas unique. Almost anywhere in the world, land like that would becultivated, not allowed to go to grass. This might be somewhere in Africa.... He shook his head, puzzled. The Sun disappeared and its blood-huedglow began to fade from the sky. Maitland sat there, trying to gethold of the problem from an angle where it wouldn't just slip away.After a while the western sky became a screen of clear luminous blue,a backdrop for a pure white brilliant star. As always at that sight,Maitland felt his worry drain away, leaving an almost mystical sense ofpeace and an undefinable longing. Venus, the most beautiful of the planets. Maitland kept track of them all in their majestic paths through theconstellations, but Venus was his favorite. Time and time again hehad watched its steady climb higher and higher in the western sky,its transient rule there as evening star, its progression toward thehorizon, and loved it equally in its alter ego of morning star. Venuswas an old friend. An old friend.... Something icy settled on the back of his neck, ran down his spine, anddiffused into his body. He stared at the planet unbelievingly, fistsclenched, forgetting to breathe. Last night Venus hadn't been there. Venus was a morning star just now.... Just now! He realized the truth in that moment. <doc-sep>Bob Parker came to, the emptiness of remote starlight in his face. Heopened his eyes. He was slowly revolving on an axis. Sometimes the Sunswept across his line of vision. A cold hammering began at the base ofhis skull, a sensation similar to that of being buried alive. There wasno asteroid, no girl, no Queazy. He was alone in the vastness of space.Alone in a space-suit. Queazy! he whispered. Queazy! I'm running out of air! There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied theoxygen indicator. There was only five pounds pressure. Five pounds!That meant he had been floating around out here—how long? Days atleast—maybe weeks! It was evident that somebody had given him a doseof spastic rays, enough to screw up every muscle in his body to thesnapping point, putting him in such a condition of suspended animationthat his oxygen needs were small. He closed his eyes, trying to fightagainst panic. He was glad he couldn't see any part of his body. He wasprobably scrawny. And he was hungry! I'll starve, he thought. Or suffocate to death first! He couldn't keep himself from taking in great gulps of air. Minutes,then hours passed. He was breathing abnormally, and there wasn't enoughair in the first place. He pleaded continually for Queazy, hopingthat somehow Queazy could help, when probably Queazy was in the samecondition. He ripped out wild curses directed at the Saylor brothers.Murderers, both of them! Up until this time, he had merely thought ofthem as business rivals. If he ever got out of this— He groaned. He never would get out of it! After another hour, he wasgasping weakly, and yellow spots danced in his eyes. He called Queazy'sname once more, knowing that was the last time he would have strengthto call it. And this time the headset spoke back! Bob Parker made a gurgling sound. A voice came again, washed withstatic, far away, burbling, but excited. Bob made a rattling sound inhis throat. Then his eyes started to close, but he imagined that he sawa ship, shiny and small, driving toward him, growing in size againstthe backdrop of the Milky Way. He relapsed, a terrific buzzing in hisears. He did not lose consciousness. He heard voices, Queazy's and thegirl's, whoever she was. Somebody grabbed hold of his foot. Hisaquarium was unbuckled and good air washed over his streaming face.The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain dizzied him. Then he was lyingon a bunk, and gradually the world beyond his sick body focussed in hisclearing eyes and he knew he was alive—and going to stay that way, forawhile anyway. Thanks, Queazy, he said huskily. Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from hissuddenly brightening face. Don't thank me, he whispered. We'd have both been goners if ithadn't been for her. The Saylor brothers left her paralyzed likeus, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship.She unstrapped her holster and threw it away from her and it gaveher enough reaction to reach the ship. She got inside and used thedirection-finder on the telaudio and located me first. The Saylorsscattered us far and wide. Queazy's broad, normally good-humored facetwisted blackly. The so and so's didn't care if we lived or died. Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down athim curiously, but unhappily. Her space-suit was off. She was wearinglightly striped blue slacks and blue silk blouse and she had a paperflower in her hair. Something in Bob's stomach caved in as his eyeswidened on her. The girl said glumly, I guess you men won't much care for me when youfind out who I am and what I've done. I'm Starre Lowenthal—Andrew S.Burnside's granddaughter! <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it. Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then? Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself. Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again. Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself. How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance. We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens? Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts. Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust. Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine. Wass! There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. Are we going straight? Rodney asked. Of course, Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney? Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out! Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I— There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well? I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer? We couldn't do anything for him. Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us. So he did, Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end? Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—! Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap. An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them. Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. <doc-sep>The first thing about the derelict that struck us as we drew near washer size. No ship ever built in the Foundation Yards had ever attainedsuch gargantuan proportions. She must have stretched a full thousandfeet from bow to stern, a sleek torpedo shape of somehow unspeakablealienness. Against the backdrop of the Milky Way, she gleamed fitfullyin the light of the faraway sun, the metal of her flanks grained withsomething like tiny, glittering whorls. It was as though the stuffwere somehow unstable ... seeking balance ... maybe even alive in somestrange and alien way. It was readily apparent to all of us that she had never been built forinter-planetary flight. She was a starship. Origin unknown. An aura ofmystery surrounded her like a shroud, protecting the world that gaveher birth mutely but effectively. The distance she must have come wasunthinkable. And the time it had taken...? Aeons. Millennia. For shewas drifting, dead in space, slowly spinning end over end as she swungabout Sol in a hyperbolic orbit that would soon take her out and awayagain into the inter-stellar deeps. Something had wounded her ... perhaps ten million years ago ... perhapsyesterday. She was gashed deeply from stem to stern with a jagged ripthat bared her mangled innards. A wandering asteroid? A meteor? Wewould never know. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling of things beyondthe ken of men as I looked at her through the port. I would never knowwhat killed her, or where she was going, or whence she came. Yet shewas mine. It made me feel like an upstart. And it made me afraid ...but of what? We should have reported her to the nearest EMV base, but that wouldhave meant that we'd lose her. Scientists would be sent out. Men betterequipped than we to investigate the first extrasolar artifact found bymen. But I didn't report her. She was ours. She was money in the bank.Let the scientists take over after we'd put a prize crew aboard andbrought her into Callisto for salvage.... That's the way I had thingsfigured. The Maid hove to about a hundred yards from her and hung there, dwarfedby the mighty glistening ship. I called for volunteers and we prepareda boarding party. I was thinking that her drives alone would be worthmillions. Cohn took charge and he and three of the men suited up andcrossed to her. In an hour they were back, disappointment largely written on theirfaces. There's nothing left of her, Captain, Cohn reported, Whatever hither tore up the innards so badly we couldn't even find the drives.She's a mess inside. Nothing left but the hull and a few storagecompartments that are still unbroken. She was never built to carry humanoids he told us, and there wasnothing that could give us a hint of where she had come from. The hullalone was left. He dropped two chunks of metal on my desk. I brought back some samplesof her pressure hull, he said, The whole thing is made of thisstuff.... We'll still take her in, I said, hiding my disappointment. Thecarcass will be worth money in Callisto. Have Mister Marvin andZaleski assemble a spare pulse-jet. We'll jury-rig her and bring herdown under her own power. You take charge of provisioning her. Checkthose compartments you found and install oxy-generators aboard. Whenit's done report to me in my quarters. I picked up the two samples of gleaming metal and called for ametallurgical testing kit. I'm going to try and find out if this stuffis worth anything.... The metal was heavy—too heavy, it seemed to me, for spaceshipconstruction. But then, who was to say what conditions existed on thatdistant world where this metal was made? Under the bright fluorescent over my work-table, the chunks of metaltorn from a random bulkhead of the starship gleamed like pale silver;those strange little whorls that I had noticed on the outer hull werethere too, like tiny magnetic lines of force, making the surface ofthe metal seem to dance. I held the stuff in my bare hand. It had ayellowish tinge, and it was heavier .... Even as I watched, the metal grew yellower, and the hand that heldit grew bone weary, little tongues of fatigue licking up my forearm.Suddenly terrified, I dropped the chunk as though it were white hot. Itstruck the table with a dull thud and lay there, a rich yellow lump ofmetallic lustre. For a long while I just sat and stared. Then I began testing, tryingall the while to quiet the trembling of my hands. I weighed it on abalance. I tested it with acids. It had changed unquestionably. Itwas no longer the same as when I had carried it into my quarters. Thewhorls of force were gone. It was no longer alive with a questingvibrancy ... it was inert, stable. From somewhere, somehow, it haddrawn the energy necessary for transmutation. The unknown metal—thestuff of which that whole mammoth spaceship from the stars wasbuilt—was now.... Gold! I scarcely dared believe it, but there it was staring at me from mytable-top. Gold! I searched my mind for an explanation. Contra-terrene matter, perhaps,from some distant island universe where matter reacted differently ...drawing energy from somewhere, the energy it needed to find stabilityin its new environment. Stability as a terrene element—wonderfully,miraculously gold! And outside, in the void beyond the Maid's ports there were tons ofthis metal that could be turned into treasure. My laughter must havebeen a wild sound in those moments of discovery.... <doc-sep>Your superiors? Dan eyed the window; much too far to jump. Maybe hecould reach the machine and try a getaway— I hope you're not thinking of leaving suddenly, the beachball said,following Dan's glance. One of the eighteen fingers touched a six-inchyellow cylinder lying on the desk. Until the carrier is fueled, I'mafraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd bestintroduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader FourthClass, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to developnew sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entireSecondary Quadrant. But the way Manny and Fiorello came sailing in through the wall! That has to be a time machine they were riding in. Nothing else could justmaterialize out of thin air like that. You seem to have a time-machine fixation, Dan, Blote said. Youshouldn't assume, just because you people have developed time travel,that everyone has. Now— Blote's voice sank to a bass whisper—I'llmake a deal with you, Dan. You'll secure a small time machine in goodcondition for me. And in return— I'm supposed to supply you with a time machine? Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. I dislike pointing it out,Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegalentry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless someembarrassment exists back at the Snithian residence. I daresay Mr.Kelly would have a warm welcome for you. And, of course, I myself woulddeal rather harshly with any attempt on your part to take a powder.The Vegan flexed all eighteen fingers, drummed his tentacles under thedesk, and rolled one eye, bugging the other at Dan. Whereas, on the other hand, Blote's bass voice went on, you and megot the basis of a sweet deal. You supply the machine, and I fix you upwith an abundance of the local medium of exchange. Equitable enough, Ishould say. What about it, Dan? Ah, let me see, Dan temporized. Time machine. Time machine— Don't attempt to weasel on me, Dan, Blote rumbled ominously. I'd better look in the phone book, Dan suggested. Silently, Blote produced a dog-eared directory. Dan opened it. Time, time. Let's see.... He brightened. Time, Incorporated; localbranch office. Two twenty-one Maple Street. A sales center? Blote inquired. Or a manufacturing complex? Both, Dan said. I'll just nip over and— That won't be necessary, Dan, Blote said. I'll accompany you. Hetook the directory, studied it. Remarkable! A common commodity, openly on sale, and I failed to noticeit. Still, a ripe nut can fall from a small tree as well as from alarge. He went to his desk, rummaged, came up with a handful of fuelcells. Now, off to gather in the time machine. He took his place inthe carrier, patted the seat beside him with a wide hand. Come, Dan.Get a wiggle on. <doc-sep></s>

The first part of the story takes place in Snithian's headquarters, where he speaks to Dan in his office. Later that night, Dan sleeps in the art vault, a small room with gray walls that support paintings wrapped in brown paper. The room contains a bunk, fridge, and bookshelf. Once Dan escapes through the carrier, he finds himself passing through different rooms, including a kitchen, hallway, and bedroom. The carrier then takes him to an office in a skyscraper, with posters, framed paintings, and a desk, where he finds Blote. After returning back to Snithian's, the carrier takes him to a large park.

<s>Your superiors? Dan eyed the window; much too far to jump. Maybe hecould reach the machine and try a getaway— I hope you're not thinking of leaving suddenly, the beachball said,following Dan's glance. One of the eighteen fingers touched a six-inchyellow cylinder lying on the desk. Until the carrier is fueled, I'mafraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd bestintroduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader FourthClass, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to developnew sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entireSecondary Quadrant. But the way Manny and Fiorello came sailing in through the wall! That has to be a time machine they were riding in. Nothing else could justmaterialize out of thin air like that. You seem to have a time-machine fixation, Dan, Blote said. Youshouldn't assume, just because you people have developed time travel,that everyone has. Now— Blote's voice sank to a bass whisper—I'llmake a deal with you, Dan. You'll secure a small time machine in goodcondition for me. And in return— I'm supposed to supply you with a time machine? Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. I dislike pointing it out,Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegalentry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless someembarrassment exists back at the Snithian residence. I daresay Mr.Kelly would have a warm welcome for you. And, of course, I myself woulddeal rather harshly with any attempt on your part to take a powder.The Vegan flexed all eighteen fingers, drummed his tentacles under thedesk, and rolled one eye, bugging the other at Dan. Whereas, on the other hand, Blote's bass voice went on, you and megot the basis of a sweet deal. You supply the machine, and I fix you upwith an abundance of the local medium of exchange. Equitable enough, Ishould say. What about it, Dan? Ah, let me see, Dan temporized. Time machine. Time machine— Don't attempt to weasel on me, Dan, Blote rumbled ominously. I'd better look in the phone book, Dan suggested. Silently, Blote produced a dog-eared directory. Dan opened it. Time, time. Let's see.... He brightened. Time, Incorporated; localbranch office. Two twenty-one Maple Street. A sales center? Blote inquired. Or a manufacturing complex? Both, Dan said. I'll just nip over and— That won't be necessary, Dan, Blote said. I'll accompany you. Hetook the directory, studied it. Remarkable! A common commodity, openly on sale, and I failed to noticeit. Still, a ripe nut can fall from a small tree as well as from alarge. He went to his desk, rummaged, came up with a handful of fuelcells. Now, off to gather in the time machine. He took his place inthe carrier, patted the seat beside him with a wide hand. Come, Dan.Get a wiggle on. <doc-sep> THE STAR-SENT KNAVES BY KEITH LAUMER Illustrated by Gaughan [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When the Great Galactic Union first encounters Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one. Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings. That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you. Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers. Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it— Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today! Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded. Now, wait a minute— Kelly started. What's that? Snithian cut in. You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night— Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped. —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished. Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside. The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken. By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault. Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees. I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover. Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door. Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work? A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded. Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet. <doc-sep>Hesitantly, Dan moved to the carrier. The bluff was all right up to apoint—but the point had just about been reached. He took his seat.Blote moved a lever. The familiar blue glow sprang up. Kindly directme, Dan, Blote demanded. Two twenty-one Maple Street, I believe yousaid. I don't know the town very well, Dan said, but Maple's over thatway. Blote worked levers. The carrier shot out into a ghostly afternoon sky.Faint outlines of buildings, like faded negatives, spread below. Danlooked around, spotted lettering on a square five-story structure. Over there, he said. Blote directed the machine as it swoopedsmoothly toward the flat roof Dan indicated. Better let me take over now, Dan suggested. I want to be sure toget us to the right place. Very well, Dan. Dan dropped the carrier through the roof, passed down through a dimlyseen office. Blote twiddled a small knob. The scene around the cagegrew even fainter. Best we remain unnoticed, he explained. The cage descended steadily. Dan peered out, searching for identifyinglandmarks. He leveled off at the second floor, cruised along a barelyvisible corridor. Blote's eyes rolled, studying the small chambersalong both sides of the passage at once. Ah, this must be the assembly area, he exclaimed. I see the machinesemploy a bar-type construction, not unlike our carriers. That's right, Dan said, staring through the haziness. This is wherethey do time.... He tugged at a lever suddenly; the machine veeredleft, flickered through a barred door, came to a halt. Two nebulousfigures loomed beside the cage. Dan cut the switch. If he'd guessedwrong— The scene fluoresced, sparks crackling, then popped into sharp focus.Blote scrambled out, brown eyes swivelling to take in the concretewalls, the barred door and— You! a hoarse voice bellowed. Grab him! someone yelled. Blote recoiled, threshing his ambulatory members in a fruitless attemptto regain the carrier as Manny and Fiorello closed in. Dan hauled at alever. He caught a last glimpse of three struggling, blue-lit figuresas the carrier shot away through the cell wall. III Dan slumped back against the seat with a sigh. Now that he was in theclear, he would have to decide on his next move—fast. There was notelling what other resources Blote might have. He would have to hidethe carrier, then— A low growling was coming from somewhere, rising in pitch and volume.Dan sat up, alarmed. This was no time for a malfunction. The sound rose higher, into a penetrating wail. There was no sign ofmechanical trouble. The carrier glided on, swooping now over a nebulouslandscape of trees and houses. Dan covered his ears against thedeafening shriek, like all the police sirens in town blaring at once.If the carrier stopped it would be a long fall from here. Dan workedthe controls, dropping toward the distant earth. The noise seemed to lessen, descending the scale. Dan slowed, broughtthe carrier in to the corner of a wide park. He dropped the last fewinches and cut the switch. As the glow died, the siren faded into silence. Dan stepped from the carrier and looked around. Whatever the noisewas, it hadn't attracted any attention from the scattered pedestriansin the park. Perhaps it was some sort of burglar alarm. But if so, whyhadn't it gone into action earlier? Dan took a deep breath. Sound or nosound, he would have to get back into the carrier and transfer it to asecluded spot where he could study it at leisure. He stepped back in,reached for the controls— There was a sudden chill in the air. The bright surface of the dialsbefore him frosted over. There was a loud pop! like a flashbulbexploding. Dan stared from the seat at an iridescent rectanglewhich hung suspended near the carrier. Its surface rippled, fadedto blankness. In a swirl of frosty air, a tall figure dressed in atight-fitting white uniform stepped through. Dan gaped at the small rounded head, the dark-skinned long-nosed face,the long, muscular arms, the hands, their backs tufted with curlyred-brown hair, the strange long-heeled feet in soft boots. A neatpillbox cap with a short visor was strapped low over the deep-setyellowish eyes, which turned in his direction. The wide mouth opened ina smile which showed square yellowish teeth. Alors, monsieur , the new-comer said, bending his knees and back ina quick bow. Vous ete une indigine, n'est ce pas? No compree, Dan choked out Uh ... juh no parlay Fransay.... My error. This is the Anglic colonial sector, isn't it? Stupid of me.Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Dzhackoon, Field Agent of Classfive, Inter-dimensional Monitor Service. That siren, Dan said. Was that you? Dzhackoon nodded. For a moment, it appeared you were disinclined tostop. I'm glad you decided to be reasonable. What outfit did you say you were with? Dan asked. The Inter-dimensional Monitor Service. Inter-what? Dimensional. The word is imprecise, of course, but it's the best ourlanguage coder can do, using the Anglic vocabulary. What do you want with me? <doc-sep>Now that the virus diseases had been licked, people hardly evergot sick any more and, when they did, it was mostly psychosomatic.Life was so well organized that there weren't even many accidentsthese days. It was a safe, orderly existence for those who fittedinto it—which accounted for more than ninety-five per cent of thepopulation. The only ones who didn't adjust were those who couldn't,like me—psi-deficients, throwbacks to an earlier era. There were nophysical cripples, because anybody could have a new arm or a new leggrafted on, but you couldn't graft psi powers onto an atavism or, ifyou could, the technique hadn't been developed yet. I feel a sense of impending doom brooding over this household, myyoungest brother remarked cheerfully as he vaulted into his chair. You always do, Timothy, my mother said, unfolding her napkin. And Imust say it's not in good taste, especially at breakfast. He reached for his juice. Guess this is a doomed household. And whatwas all that emotional uproar about? The usual, Sylvia said from the doorway before anyone else couldanswer. She slid warily into her chair. Hey, Dan, I'm here! shecalled. If anything else comes in, it comes in manually, understand? Oh, all right. Dan emerged from the kitchen with a tray of foodfloating ahead of him. The usual? Trouble with Kev? Tim looked at me narrowly. Somehow mysense of ominousness is connected with him. Well, that's perfectly natural— Sylvia began, then stopped as Mothercaught her eye. I didn't mean that, Tim said. I still say Kev's got something wecan't figure out. You've been saying that for years, Danny protested, and he's beentested for every faculty under the Sun. He can't telepath or teleportor telekinesthesize or even teletype. He can't precognize or prefix orprepossess. He can't— Strictly a bundle of no-talent, that's me, I interrupted, trying tokeep my animal feelings from getting the better of me. That was how myfamily thought of me, I knew—as an animal, and not a very lovable one,either. No, Tim said, he's just got something we haven't developed a testfor. It'll come out some day, you'll see. He smiled at me. <doc-sep>Dan looked about wildly. The voice seemed to be issuing from a speaker.It appeared Kelly hedged his bets. Mr. Kelly, I can explain everything! Dan called. He turned back toFiorello. Listen, I figured out— Pretty clever! Kelly's voice barked. Inside job. But it takes morethan the likes of you to out-fox an old-timer like Eddie Kelly. Perhaps you were right, Manny, Fiorello said. Complications arearising. We'd best depart with all deliberate haste. He edged towardthe cage. What about this ginzo? Manny jerked a thumb toward Dan. He's on tous. Can't be helped. Look—I want to go with you! Dan shouted. I'll bet you do! Kelly's voice roared. One more minute and I'll havethe door open and collar the lot of you! Came up through a tunnel, didyou? You can't go, my dear fellow, Fiorello said. Room for two, no more. Dan whirled to the cot, grabbed up the pistol Kelly had supplied. Heaimed it at Manny. You stay here, Manny! I'm going with Fiorello inthe time machine. Are you nuts? Manny demanded. I'm flattered, dear boy, Fiorello said, but— Let's get moving. Kelly will have that lock open in a minute. You can't leave me here! Manny spluttered, watching Dan crowd intothe cage beside Fiorello. We'll send for you, Dan said. Let's go, Fiorello. The balding man snatched suddenly for the gun. Dan wrestled with him.The pistol fell, bounced on the floor of the cage, skidded into thefar corner of the vault. Manny charged, reaching for Dan as he twistedaside; Fiorello's elbow caught him in the mouth. Manny staggered backinto the arms of Kelly, bursting red-faced into the vault. Manny! Fiorello released his grip on Dan, lunged to aid hiscompanion. Kelly passed Manny to one of three cops crowding in on hisheels. Dan clung to the framework as Fiorello grappled with Kelly. Acop pushed past them, spotted Dan, moved in briskly for the pinch. Dangrabbed a lever at random and pulled. Sudden silence fell as the walls of the room glowed blue. A spectralKelly capered before the cage, fluorescing in the blue-violet. Danswallowed hard and nudged a second lever. The cage sank like anelevator into the floor, vivid blue washing up its sides. Hastily he reversed the control. Operating a time machine was trickybusiness. One little slip, and the Slane molecules would be squeezingin among brick and mortar particles.... But this was no time to be cautious. Things hadn't turned out just theway he'd planned, but after all, this was what he'd wanted—in a way.The time machine was his to command. And if he gave up now and crawledback into the vault, Kelly would gather him in and pin every art theftof the past decade on him. It couldn't be too hard. He'd take it slowly, figure out thecontrols.... <doc-sep>Dan took a deep breath and tried another lever. The cage rose gently,in eerie silence. It reached the ceiling and kept going. Dan grittedhis teeth as an eight-inch band of luminescence passed down the cage.Then he was emerging into a spacious kitchen. A blue-haloed cookwaddled to a luminous refrigerator, caught sight of Dan rising slowlyfrom the floor, stumbled back, mouth open. The cage rose, penetrated asecond ceiling. Dan looked around at a carpeted hall. Cautiously he neutralized the control lever. The cage came to rest aninch above the floor. As far as Dan could tell, he hadn't traveled somuch as a minute into the past or future. He looked over the controls. There should be one labeled Forwardand another labeled Back, but all the levers were plain, unadornedblack. They looked, Dan decided, like ordinary circuit-breaker typeknife-switches. In fact, the whole apparatus had the appearance ofsomething thrown together hastily from common materials. Still, itworked. So far he had only found the controls for maneuvering in theusual three dimensions, but the time switch was bound to be heresomewhere.... Dan looked up at a movement at the far end of the hall. A girl's head and shoulders appeared, coming up a spiral staircase. Inanother second she would see him, and give the alarm—and Dan neededa few moments of peace and quiet in which to figure out the controls.He moved a lever. The cage drifted smoothly sideways, sliced throughthe wall with a flurry of vivid blue light. Dan pushed the leverback. He was in a bedroom now, a wide chamber with flouncy curtains, afour-poster under a flowered canopy, a dressing table— The door opened and the girl stepped into the room. She was young. Notover eighteen, Dan thought—as nearly as he could tell with the bluelight playing around her face. She had long hair tied with a ribbon,and long legs, neatly curved. She wore shorts and carried a tennisracquet in her left hand and an apple in her right. Her back to Dan andthe cage, she tossed the racquet on a table, took a bite of the apple,and began briskly unbuttoning her shirt. Dan tried moving a lever. The cage edged toward the girl. Another;he rose gently. The girl tossed the shirt onto a chair and undid thezipper down the side of the shorts. Another lever; the cage shot towardthe outer wall as the girl reached behind her back.... Dan blinked at the flash of blue and looked down. He was hoveringtwenty feet above a clipped lawn. He looked at the levers. Wasn't it the first one in line that moved thecage ahead? He tried it, shot forward ten feet. Below, a man steppedout on the terrace, lit a cigarette, paused, started to turn his faceup— Dan jabbed at a lever. The cage shot back through the wall. He was in aplain room with a depression in the floor, a wide window with a planterfilled with glowing blue plants— The door opened. Even blue, the girl looked graceful as a deer as shetook a last bite of the apple and stepped into the ten-foot-squaresunken tub. Dan held his breath. The girl tossed the apple core aside,seemed to suddenly become aware of eyes on her, whirled— With a sudden lurch that threw Dan against the steel bars, thecage shot through the wall into the open air and hurtled off withan acceleration that kept him pinned, helpless. He groped for thecontrols, hauled at a lever. There was no change. The cage rushedon, rising higher. In the distance, Dan saw the skyline of a town,approaching with frightful speed. A tall office building reared upfifteen stories high. He was headed dead for it— He covered his ears, braced himself— With an abruptness that flung him against the opposite side of thecage, the machine braked, shot through the wall and slammed to a stop.Dan sank to the floor of the cage, breathing hard. There was a loud click! and the glow faded. With a lunge, Dan scrambled out of the cage. He stood looking around ata simple brown-painted office, dimly lit by sunlight filtered throughelaborate venetian blinds. There were posters on the wall, a pottedplant by the door, a heap of framed paintings beside it, and at the farside of the room a desk. And behind the desk—Something. II Dan gaped at a head the size of a beachball, mounted on a torso like ahundred-gallon bag of water. Two large brown eyes blinked at him frompoints eight inches apart. Immense hands with too many fingers unfoldedand reached to open a brown paper carton, dip in, then toss threepeanuts, deliberately, one by one, into a gaping mouth that opened justabove the brown eyes. Who're you? a bass voice demanded from somewhere near the floor. I'm ... I'm ... Dan Slane ... your honor. What happened to Manny and Fiorello? They—I—There was this cop. Kelly— Oh-oh. The brown eyes blinked deliberately. The many-fingered handsclosed the peanut carton and tucked it into a drawer. Well, it was a sweet racket while it lasted, the basso voice said. Apity to terminate so happy an enterprise. Still.... A noise like anamplified Bronx cheer issued from the wide mouth. How ... what...? The carrier returns here automatically when the charge drops below acritical value, the voice said. A necessary measure to discouragebig ideas on the part of wisenheimers in my employ. May I ask how youhappen to be aboard the carrier, by the way? I just wanted—I mean, after I figured out—that is, the police ... Iwent for help, Dan finished lamely. Help? Out of the picture, unfortunately. One must maintain one'sanonymity, you'll appreciate. My operation here is under wraps atpresent. Ah, I don't suppose you brought any paintings? Dan shook his head. He was staring at the posters. His eyes,accustoming themselves to the gloom of the office, could now make outthe vividly drawn outline of a creature resembling an alligator-headedgiraffe rearing up above scarlet foliage. The next poster showed a facesimilar to the beachball behind the desk, with red circles paintedaround the eyes. The next was a view of a yellow volcano spouting fireinto a black sky. Too bad. The words seemed to come from under the desk. Dan squinted,caught a glimpse of coiled purplish tentacles. He gulped and looked upto catch a brown eye upon him. Only one. The other seemed to be busilyat work studying the ceiling. I hope, the voice said, that you ain't harboring no reactionaryracial prejudices. <doc-sep>Eight hours, three sandwiches and six beers later, Dan roused suddenlyfrom a light doze and sat up on the cot. Between him and the crowdedshelving, a palely luminous framework was materializing in mid-air. The apparition was an open-work cage—about the size and shape of anout-house minus the sheathing, Dan estimated breathlessly. Two figureswere visible within the structure, sitting stiffly in contoured chairs.They glowed, if anything, more brightly than the framework. A faint sound cut into the stillness—a descending whine. The cagemoved jerkily, settling toward the floor. Long blue sparks jumped,crackling, to span the closing gap; with a grate of metal, the cagesettled against the floor. The spectral men reached for ghostlyswitches.... The glow died. Dan was aware of his heart thumping painfully under his ribs. His mouthwas dry. This was the moment he'd been planning for, but now that itwas here— Never mind. He took a deep breath, ran over the speeches he hadprepared for the occasion: Greeting, visitors from the Future.... Hopelessly corny. What about: Welcome to the Twentieth Century.... No good; it lacked spontaneity. The men were rising, their backs toDan, stepping out of the skeletal frame. In the dim light it nowlooked like nothing more than a rough frame built of steel pipe, witha cluster of levers in a console before the two seats. And the thieveslooked ordinary enough: Two men in gray coveralls, one slender andbalding, the other shorter and round-faced. Neither of them noticedDan, sitting rigid on the cot. The thin man placed a lantern on thetable, twiddled a knob. A warm light sprang up. The visitors looked atthe stacked shelves. Looks like the old boy's been doing all right, the shorter man said.Fathead's gonna be pleased. A very gratifying consignment, his companion said. However, we'dbest hurry, Manny. How much time have we left on this charge? Plenty. Fifteen minutes anyway. The thin man opened a package, glanced at a painting. Ah, magnificent. Almost the equal of Picasso in his puce period. Manny shuffled through the other pictures in the stack. Like always, he grumbled. No nood dames. I like nood dames. Look at this, Manny! The textures alone— Manny looked. Yeah, nice use of values, he conceded. But I stillprefer nood dames, Fiorello. And this! Fiorello lifted the next painting. Look at that gay playof rich browns! I seen richer browns on Thirty-third Street, Manny said. They waspopular with the sparrows. Manny, sometimes I think your aspirations— Whatta ya talkin? I use a roll-on. Manny, turning to place a paintingin the cage, stopped dead as he caught sight of Dan. The paintingclattered to the floor. Dan stood, cleared his throat. Uh.... Oh-oh, Manny said. A double-cross. I've—ah—been expecting you gentlemen, Dan said. I— I told you we couldn't trust no guy with nine fingers on each hand,Manny whispered hoarsely. He moved toward the cage. Let's blow,Fiorello. Wait a minute, Dan said. Before you do anything hasty— Don't start nothing, Buster, Manny said cautiously. We're plentytough guys when aroused. I want to talk to you, Dan insisted. You see, these paintings— Paintings? Look, it was all a mistake. Like, we figured this was thegent's room— Never mind, Manny, Fiorello cut in. It appears there's been a leak. Dan shook his head. No leak. I simply deduced— Look, Fiorello, Manny said. You chin if you want to; I'm doing afast fade. Don't act hastily, Manny. You know where you'll end. Wait a minute! Dan shouted. I'd like to make a deal with youfellows. Ah-hah! Kelly's voice blared from somewhere. I knew it! Slane, youcrook! <doc-sep>Gosh, no, Dan reassured the eye. I'm crazy about—uh— Vorplischers, the voice said. From Vorplisch, or Vega, as you callit. The Bronx cheer sounded again. How I long to glimpse once more mynative fens! Wherever one wanders, there's no pad like home. That reminds me, Dan said. I have to be running along now. Hesidled toward the door. Stick around, Dan, the voice rumbled. How about a drink? I canoffer you Chateau Neuf du Pape, '59, Romance Conte, '32, goat's milk,Pepsi— No, thanks. If you don't mind, I believe I'll have a Big Orange. The Vorplischerswiveled to a small refrigerator, removed an immense bottle fitted witha nipple and turned back to Dan. Now, I got a proposition which may beof some interest to you. The loss of Manny and Fiorello is a seriousblow, but we may yet recoup the situation. You made the scene at a mostopportune time. What I got in mind is, with those two clowns out of thepicture, a vacancy exists on my staff, which you might well fill. Howdoes that grab you? You mean you want me to take over operating the time machine? Time machine? The brown eyes blinked alternately. I fear someconfusion exists. I don't quite dig the significance of the term. That thing, Dan jabbed a thumb toward the cage. The machine I camehere in. You want me— Time machine, the voice repeated. Some sort of chronometer, perhaps? Huh? I pride myself on my command of the local idiom, yet I confess theimplied concept snows me. The nine-fingered hands folded on the desk.The beachball head leaned forward interestedly. Clue me, Dan. What's atime machine? Well, it's what you use to travel through time. The brown eyes blinked in agitated alternation. Apparently I've lousedup my investigation of the local cultural background. I had no ideayou were capable of that sort of thing. The immense head leaned back,the wide mouth opening and closing rapidly. And to think I've beenspinning my wheels collecting primitive 2-D art! But—don't you have a time machine? I mean, isn't that one? That? That's merely a carrier. Now tell me more about your timemachines. A fascinating concept! My superiors will be delighted atthis development—and astonished as well. They regard this planet asEndsville. <doc-sep></s>

Dan first meets Blote when he finally stops the carrier. Blote is a giant, strange man with a beachball-like head and many fingers, with a mouth above his eyes. Dan is immediately intimidated and fascinated by Blote, and Blote, aware of his superiority, requests that Dan replace Manny and Fiorello in the art stealing scheme. When Dan refuses, Blote orders that he find him a time machine and threatens to punish him for trespassing. Dan manages to fool Blote, but the two have an imbalanced power relationship, where Blote is much more powerful than Dan.

<s> THE STAR-SENT KNAVES BY KEITH LAUMER Illustrated by Gaughan [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When the Great Galactic Union first encounters Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one. Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings. That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you. Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers. Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it— Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today! Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded. Now, wait a minute— Kelly started. What's that? Snithian cut in. You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night— Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped. —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished. Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside. The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken. By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault. Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees. I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover. Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door. Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work? A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded. Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet. <doc-sep>Dan took a deep breath and tried another lever. The cage rose gently,in eerie silence. It reached the ceiling and kept going. Dan grittedhis teeth as an eight-inch band of luminescence passed down the cage.Then he was emerging into a spacious kitchen. A blue-haloed cookwaddled to a luminous refrigerator, caught sight of Dan rising slowlyfrom the floor, stumbled back, mouth open. The cage rose, penetrated asecond ceiling. Dan looked around at a carpeted hall. Cautiously he neutralized the control lever. The cage came to rest aninch above the floor. As far as Dan could tell, he hadn't traveled somuch as a minute into the past or future. He looked over the controls. There should be one labeled Forwardand another labeled Back, but all the levers were plain, unadornedblack. They looked, Dan decided, like ordinary circuit-breaker typeknife-switches. In fact, the whole apparatus had the appearance ofsomething thrown together hastily from common materials. Still, itworked. So far he had only found the controls for maneuvering in theusual three dimensions, but the time switch was bound to be heresomewhere.... Dan looked up at a movement at the far end of the hall. A girl's head and shoulders appeared, coming up a spiral staircase. Inanother second she would see him, and give the alarm—and Dan neededa few moments of peace and quiet in which to figure out the controls.He moved a lever. The cage drifted smoothly sideways, sliced throughthe wall with a flurry of vivid blue light. Dan pushed the leverback. He was in a bedroom now, a wide chamber with flouncy curtains, afour-poster under a flowered canopy, a dressing table— The door opened and the girl stepped into the room. She was young. Notover eighteen, Dan thought—as nearly as he could tell with the bluelight playing around her face. She had long hair tied with a ribbon,and long legs, neatly curved. She wore shorts and carried a tennisracquet in her left hand and an apple in her right. Her back to Dan andthe cage, she tossed the racquet on a table, took a bite of the apple,and began briskly unbuttoning her shirt. Dan tried moving a lever. The cage edged toward the girl. Another;he rose gently. The girl tossed the shirt onto a chair and undid thezipper down the side of the shorts. Another lever; the cage shot towardthe outer wall as the girl reached behind her back.... Dan blinked at the flash of blue and looked down. He was hoveringtwenty feet above a clipped lawn. He looked at the levers. Wasn't it the first one in line that moved thecage ahead? He tried it, shot forward ten feet. Below, a man steppedout on the terrace, lit a cigarette, paused, started to turn his faceup— Dan jabbed at a lever. The cage shot back through the wall. He was in aplain room with a depression in the floor, a wide window with a planterfilled with glowing blue plants— The door opened. Even blue, the girl looked graceful as a deer as shetook a last bite of the apple and stepped into the ten-foot-squaresunken tub. Dan held his breath. The girl tossed the apple core aside,seemed to suddenly become aware of eyes on her, whirled— With a sudden lurch that threw Dan against the steel bars, thecage shot through the wall into the open air and hurtled off withan acceleration that kept him pinned, helpless. He groped for thecontrols, hauled at a lever. There was no change. The cage rushedon, rising higher. In the distance, Dan saw the skyline of a town,approaching with frightful speed. A tall office building reared upfifteen stories high. He was headed dead for it— He covered his ears, braced himself— With an abruptness that flung him against the opposite side of thecage, the machine braked, shot through the wall and slammed to a stop.Dan sank to the floor of the cage, breathing hard. There was a loud click! and the glow faded. With a lunge, Dan scrambled out of the cage. He stood looking around ata simple brown-painted office, dimly lit by sunlight filtered throughelaborate venetian blinds. There were posters on the wall, a pottedplant by the door, a heap of framed paintings beside it, and at the farside of the room a desk. And behind the desk—Something. II Dan gaped at a head the size of a beachball, mounted on a torso like ahundred-gallon bag of water. Two large brown eyes blinked at him frompoints eight inches apart. Immense hands with too many fingers unfoldedand reached to open a brown paper carton, dip in, then toss threepeanuts, deliberately, one by one, into a gaping mouth that opened justabove the brown eyes. Who're you? a bass voice demanded from somewhere near the floor. I'm ... I'm ... Dan Slane ... your honor. What happened to Manny and Fiorello? They—I—There was this cop. Kelly— Oh-oh. The brown eyes blinked deliberately. The many-fingered handsclosed the peanut carton and tucked it into a drawer. Well, it was a sweet racket while it lasted, the basso voice said. Apity to terminate so happy an enterprise. Still.... A noise like anamplified Bronx cheer issued from the wide mouth. How ... what...? The carrier returns here automatically when the charge drops below acritical value, the voice said. A necessary measure to discouragebig ideas on the part of wisenheimers in my employ. May I ask how youhappen to be aboard the carrier, by the way? I just wanted—I mean, after I figured out—that is, the police ... Iwent for help, Dan finished lamely. Help? Out of the picture, unfortunately. One must maintain one'sanonymity, you'll appreciate. My operation here is under wraps atpresent. Ah, I don't suppose you brought any paintings? Dan shook his head. He was staring at the posters. His eyes,accustoming themselves to the gloom of the office, could now make outthe vividly drawn outline of a creature resembling an alligator-headedgiraffe rearing up above scarlet foliage. The next poster showed a facesimilar to the beachball behind the desk, with red circles paintedaround the eyes. The next was a view of a yellow volcano spouting fireinto a black sky. Too bad. The words seemed to come from under the desk. Dan squinted,caught a glimpse of coiled purplish tentacles. He gulped and looked upto catch a brown eye upon him. Only one. The other seemed to be busilyat work studying the ceiling. I hope, the voice said, that you ain't harboring no reactionaryracial prejudices. <doc-sep>Now that the virus diseases had been licked, people hardly evergot sick any more and, when they did, it was mostly psychosomatic.Life was so well organized that there weren't even many accidentsthese days. It was a safe, orderly existence for those who fittedinto it—which accounted for more than ninety-five per cent of thepopulation. The only ones who didn't adjust were those who couldn't,like me—psi-deficients, throwbacks to an earlier era. There were nophysical cripples, because anybody could have a new arm or a new leggrafted on, but you couldn't graft psi powers onto an atavism or, ifyou could, the technique hadn't been developed yet. I feel a sense of impending doom brooding over this household, myyoungest brother remarked cheerfully as he vaulted into his chair. You always do, Timothy, my mother said, unfolding her napkin. And Imust say it's not in good taste, especially at breakfast. He reached for his juice. Guess this is a doomed household. And whatwas all that emotional uproar about? The usual, Sylvia said from the doorway before anyone else couldanswer. She slid warily into her chair. Hey, Dan, I'm here! shecalled. If anything else comes in, it comes in manually, understand? Oh, all right. Dan emerged from the kitchen with a tray of foodfloating ahead of him. The usual? Trouble with Kev? Tim looked at me narrowly. Somehow mysense of ominousness is connected with him. Well, that's perfectly natural— Sylvia began, then stopped as Mothercaught her eye. I didn't mean that, Tim said. I still say Kev's got something wecan't figure out. You've been saying that for years, Danny protested, and he's beentested for every faculty under the Sun. He can't telepath or teleportor telekinesthesize or even teletype. He can't precognize or prefix orprepossess. He can't— Strictly a bundle of no-talent, that's me, I interrupted, trying tokeep my animal feelings from getting the better of me. That was how myfamily thought of me, I knew—as an animal, and not a very lovable one,either. No, Tim said, he's just got something we haven't developed a testfor. It'll come out some day, you'll see. He smiled at me. <doc-sep>Hesitantly, Dan moved to the carrier. The bluff was all right up to apoint—but the point had just about been reached. He took his seat.Blote moved a lever. The familiar blue glow sprang up. Kindly directme, Dan, Blote demanded. Two twenty-one Maple Street, I believe yousaid. I don't know the town very well, Dan said, but Maple's over thatway. Blote worked levers. The carrier shot out into a ghostly afternoon sky.Faint outlines of buildings, like faded negatives, spread below. Danlooked around, spotted lettering on a square five-story structure. Over there, he said. Blote directed the machine as it swoopedsmoothly toward the flat roof Dan indicated. Better let me take over now, Dan suggested. I want to be sure toget us to the right place. Very well, Dan. Dan dropped the carrier through the roof, passed down through a dimlyseen office. Blote twiddled a small knob. The scene around the cagegrew even fainter. Best we remain unnoticed, he explained. The cage descended steadily. Dan peered out, searching for identifyinglandmarks. He leveled off at the second floor, cruised along a barelyvisible corridor. Blote's eyes rolled, studying the small chambersalong both sides of the passage at once. Ah, this must be the assembly area, he exclaimed. I see the machinesemploy a bar-type construction, not unlike our carriers. That's right, Dan said, staring through the haziness. This is wherethey do time.... He tugged at a lever suddenly; the machine veeredleft, flickered through a barred door, came to a halt. Two nebulousfigures loomed beside the cage. Dan cut the switch. If he'd guessedwrong— The scene fluoresced, sparks crackling, then popped into sharp focus.Blote scrambled out, brown eyes swivelling to take in the concretewalls, the barred door and— You! a hoarse voice bellowed. Grab him! someone yelled. Blote recoiled, threshing his ambulatory members in a fruitless attemptto regain the carrier as Manny and Fiorello closed in. Dan hauled at alever. He caught a last glimpse of three struggling, blue-lit figuresas the carrier shot away through the cell wall. III Dan slumped back against the seat with a sigh. Now that he was in theclear, he would have to decide on his next move—fast. There was notelling what other resources Blote might have. He would have to hidethe carrier, then— A low growling was coming from somewhere, rising in pitch and volume.Dan sat up, alarmed. This was no time for a malfunction. The sound rose higher, into a penetrating wail. There was no sign ofmechanical trouble. The carrier glided on, swooping now over a nebulouslandscape of trees and houses. Dan covered his ears against thedeafening shriek, like all the police sirens in town blaring at once.If the carrier stopped it would be a long fall from here. Dan workedthe controls, dropping toward the distant earth. The noise seemed to lessen, descending the scale. Dan slowed, broughtthe carrier in to the corner of a wide park. He dropped the last fewinches and cut the switch. As the glow died, the siren faded into silence. Dan stepped from the carrier and looked around. Whatever the noisewas, it hadn't attracted any attention from the scattered pedestriansin the park. Perhaps it was some sort of burglar alarm. But if so, whyhadn't it gone into action earlier? Dan took a deep breath. Sound or nosound, he would have to get back into the carrier and transfer it to asecluded spot where he could study it at leisure. He stepped back in,reached for the controls— There was a sudden chill in the air. The bright surface of the dialsbefore him frosted over. There was a loud pop! like a flashbulbexploding. Dan stared from the seat at an iridescent rectanglewhich hung suspended near the carrier. Its surface rippled, fadedto blankness. In a swirl of frosty air, a tall figure dressed in atight-fitting white uniform stepped through. Dan gaped at the small rounded head, the dark-skinned long-nosed face,the long, muscular arms, the hands, their backs tufted with curlyred-brown hair, the strange long-heeled feet in soft boots. A neatpillbox cap with a short visor was strapped low over the deep-setyellowish eyes, which turned in his direction. The wide mouth opened ina smile which showed square yellowish teeth. Alors, monsieur , the new-comer said, bending his knees and back ina quick bow. Vous ete une indigine, n'est ce pas? No compree, Dan choked out Uh ... juh no parlay Fransay.... My error. This is the Anglic colonial sector, isn't it? Stupid of me.Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Dzhackoon, Field Agent of Classfive, Inter-dimensional Monitor Service. That siren, Dan said. Was that you? Dzhackoon nodded. For a moment, it appeared you were disinclined tostop. I'm glad you decided to be reasonable. What outfit did you say you were with? Dan asked. The Inter-dimensional Monitor Service. Inter-what? Dimensional. The word is imprecise, of course, but it's the best ourlanguage coder can do, using the Anglic vocabulary. What do you want with me? <doc-sep>Your superiors? Dan eyed the window; much too far to jump. Maybe hecould reach the machine and try a getaway— I hope you're not thinking of leaving suddenly, the beachball said,following Dan's glance. One of the eighteen fingers touched a six-inchyellow cylinder lying on the desk. Until the carrier is fueled, I'mafraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd bestintroduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader FourthClass, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to developnew sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entireSecondary Quadrant. But the way Manny and Fiorello came sailing in through the wall! That has to be a time machine they were riding in. Nothing else could justmaterialize out of thin air like that. You seem to have a time-machine fixation, Dan, Blote said. Youshouldn't assume, just because you people have developed time travel,that everyone has. Now— Blote's voice sank to a bass whisper—I'llmake a deal with you, Dan. You'll secure a small time machine in goodcondition for me. And in return— I'm supposed to supply you with a time machine? Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. I dislike pointing it out,Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegalentry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless someembarrassment exists back at the Snithian residence. I daresay Mr.Kelly would have a warm welcome for you. And, of course, I myself woulddeal rather harshly with any attempt on your part to take a powder.The Vegan flexed all eighteen fingers, drummed his tentacles under thedesk, and rolled one eye, bugging the other at Dan. Whereas, on the other hand, Blote's bass voice went on, you and megot the basis of a sweet deal. You supply the machine, and I fix you upwith an abundance of the local medium of exchange. Equitable enough, Ishould say. What about it, Dan? Ah, let me see, Dan temporized. Time machine. Time machine— Don't attempt to weasel on me, Dan, Blote rumbled ominously. I'd better look in the phone book, Dan suggested. Silently, Blote produced a dog-eared directory. Dan opened it. Time, time. Let's see.... He brightened. Time, Incorporated; localbranch office. Two twenty-one Maple Street. A sales center? Blote inquired. Or a manufacturing complex? Both, Dan said. I'll just nip over and— That won't be necessary, Dan, Blote said. I'll accompany you. Hetook the directory, studied it. Remarkable! A common commodity, openly on sale, and I failed to noticeit. Still, a ripe nut can fall from a small tree as well as from alarge. He went to his desk, rummaged, came up with a handful of fuelcells. Now, off to gather in the time machine. He took his place inthe carrier, patted the seat beside him with a wide hand. Come, Dan.Get a wiggle on. <doc-sep>Dan looked about wildly. The voice seemed to be issuing from a speaker.It appeared Kelly hedged his bets. Mr. Kelly, I can explain everything! Dan called. He turned back toFiorello. Listen, I figured out— Pretty clever! Kelly's voice barked. Inside job. But it takes morethan the likes of you to out-fox an old-timer like Eddie Kelly. Perhaps you were right, Manny, Fiorello said. Complications arearising. We'd best depart with all deliberate haste. He edged towardthe cage. What about this ginzo? Manny jerked a thumb toward Dan. He's on tous. Can't be helped. Look—I want to go with you! Dan shouted. I'll bet you do! Kelly's voice roared. One more minute and I'll havethe door open and collar the lot of you! Came up through a tunnel, didyou? You can't go, my dear fellow, Fiorello said. Room for two, no more. Dan whirled to the cot, grabbed up the pistol Kelly had supplied. Heaimed it at Manny. You stay here, Manny! I'm going with Fiorello inthe time machine. Are you nuts? Manny demanded. I'm flattered, dear boy, Fiorello said, but— Let's get moving. Kelly will have that lock open in a minute. You can't leave me here! Manny spluttered, watching Dan crowd intothe cage beside Fiorello. We'll send for you, Dan said. Let's go, Fiorello. The balding man snatched suddenly for the gun. Dan wrestled with him.The pistol fell, bounced on the floor of the cage, skidded into thefar corner of the vault. Manny charged, reaching for Dan as he twistedaside; Fiorello's elbow caught him in the mouth. Manny staggered backinto the arms of Kelly, bursting red-faced into the vault. Manny! Fiorello released his grip on Dan, lunged to aid hiscompanion. Kelly passed Manny to one of three cops crowding in on hisheels. Dan clung to the framework as Fiorello grappled with Kelly. Acop pushed past them, spotted Dan, moved in briskly for the pinch. Dangrabbed a lever at random and pulled. Sudden silence fell as the walls of the room glowed blue. A spectralKelly capered before the cage, fluorescing in the blue-violet. Danswallowed hard and nudged a second lever. The cage sank like anelevator into the floor, vivid blue washing up its sides. Hastily he reversed the control. Operating a time machine was trickybusiness. One little slip, and the Slane molecules would be squeezingin among brick and mortar particles.... But this was no time to be cautious. Things hadn't turned out just theway he'd planned, but after all, this was what he'd wanted—in a way.The time machine was his to command. And if he gave up now and crawledback into the vault, Kelly would gather him in and pin every art theftof the past decade on him. It couldn't be too hard. He'd take it slowly, figure out thecontrols.... <doc-sep>Eight hours, three sandwiches and six beers later, Dan roused suddenlyfrom a light doze and sat up on the cot. Between him and the crowdedshelving, a palely luminous framework was materializing in mid-air. The apparition was an open-work cage—about the size and shape of anout-house minus the sheathing, Dan estimated breathlessly. Two figureswere visible within the structure, sitting stiffly in contoured chairs.They glowed, if anything, more brightly than the framework. A faint sound cut into the stillness—a descending whine. The cagemoved jerkily, settling toward the floor. Long blue sparks jumped,crackling, to span the closing gap; with a grate of metal, the cagesettled against the floor. The spectral men reached for ghostlyswitches.... The glow died. Dan was aware of his heart thumping painfully under his ribs. His mouthwas dry. This was the moment he'd been planning for, but now that itwas here— Never mind. He took a deep breath, ran over the speeches he hadprepared for the occasion: Greeting, visitors from the Future.... Hopelessly corny. What about: Welcome to the Twentieth Century.... No good; it lacked spontaneity. The men were rising, their backs toDan, stepping out of the skeletal frame. In the dim light it nowlooked like nothing more than a rough frame built of steel pipe, witha cluster of levers in a console before the two seats. And the thieveslooked ordinary enough: Two men in gray coveralls, one slender andbalding, the other shorter and round-faced. Neither of them noticedDan, sitting rigid on the cot. The thin man placed a lantern on thetable, twiddled a knob. A warm light sprang up. The visitors looked atthe stacked shelves. Looks like the old boy's been doing all right, the shorter man said.Fathead's gonna be pleased. A very gratifying consignment, his companion said. However, we'dbest hurry, Manny. How much time have we left on this charge? Plenty. Fifteen minutes anyway. The thin man opened a package, glanced at a painting. Ah, magnificent. Almost the equal of Picasso in his puce period. Manny shuffled through the other pictures in the stack. Like always, he grumbled. No nood dames. I like nood dames. Look at this, Manny! The textures alone— Manny looked. Yeah, nice use of values, he conceded. But I stillprefer nood dames, Fiorello. And this! Fiorello lifted the next painting. Look at that gay playof rich browns! I seen richer browns on Thirty-third Street, Manny said. They waspopular with the sparrows. Manny, sometimes I think your aspirations— Whatta ya talkin? I use a roll-on. Manny, turning to place a paintingin the cage, stopped dead as he caught sight of Dan. The paintingclattered to the floor. Dan stood, cleared his throat. Uh.... Oh-oh, Manny said. A double-cross. I've—ah—been expecting you gentlemen, Dan said. I— I told you we couldn't trust no guy with nine fingers on each hand,Manny whispered hoarsely. He moved toward the cage. Let's blow,Fiorello. Wait a minute, Dan said. Before you do anything hasty— Don't start nothing, Buster, Manny said cautiously. We're plentytough guys when aroused. I want to talk to you, Dan insisted. You see, these paintings— Paintings? Look, it was all a mistake. Like, we figured this was thegent's room— Never mind, Manny, Fiorello cut in. It appears there's been a leak. Dan shook his head. No leak. I simply deduced— Look, Fiorello, Manny said. You chin if you want to; I'm doing afast fade. Don't act hastily, Manny. You know where you'll end. Wait a minute! Dan shouted. I'd like to make a deal with youfellows. Ah-hah! Kelly's voice blared from somewhere. I knew it! Slane, youcrook! <doc-sep>Gosh, no, Dan reassured the eye. I'm crazy about—uh— Vorplischers, the voice said. From Vorplisch, or Vega, as you callit. The Bronx cheer sounded again. How I long to glimpse once more mynative fens! Wherever one wanders, there's no pad like home. That reminds me, Dan said. I have to be running along now. Hesidled toward the door. Stick around, Dan, the voice rumbled. How about a drink? I canoffer you Chateau Neuf du Pape, '59, Romance Conte, '32, goat's milk,Pepsi— No, thanks. If you don't mind, I believe I'll have a Big Orange. The Vorplischerswiveled to a small refrigerator, removed an immense bottle fitted witha nipple and turned back to Dan. Now, I got a proposition which may beof some interest to you. The loss of Manny and Fiorello is a seriousblow, but we may yet recoup the situation. You made the scene at a mostopportune time. What I got in mind is, with those two clowns out of thepicture, a vacancy exists on my staff, which you might well fill. Howdoes that grab you? You mean you want me to take over operating the time machine? Time machine? The brown eyes blinked alternately. I fear someconfusion exists. I don't quite dig the significance of the term. That thing, Dan jabbed a thumb toward the cage. The machine I camehere in. You want me— Time machine, the voice repeated. Some sort of chronometer, perhaps? Huh? I pride myself on my command of the local idiom, yet I confess theimplied concept snows me. The nine-fingered hands folded on the desk.The beachball head leaned forward interestedly. Clue me, Dan. What's atime machine? Well, it's what you use to travel through time. The brown eyes blinked in agitated alternation. Apparently I've lousedup my investigation of the local cultural background. I had no ideayou were capable of that sort of thing. The immense head leaned back,the wide mouth opening and closing rapidly. And to think I've beenspinning my wheels collecting primitive 2-D art! But—don't you have a time machine? I mean, isn't that one? That? That's merely a carrier. Now tell me more about your timemachines. A fascinating concept! My superiors will be delighted atthis development—and astonished as well. They regard this planet asEndsville. <doc-sep></s>

Dan first proposes to Snithian that he take on the job of guarding his art vault at night in order to catch the mysterious, serial art thieves. Snithian declines, but Kelly, head of security, accepts, and that night Dan is settled into the vault. After a few hours, Dan is shocked to see a machine appear out of thin air, where two men appear to steal the art. Dan believes this is a time machine, but Kelly suddenly arrives and threatens to arrest Dan, believing he is part of an inside job. Dan attempts to escape with the carrier, and after a few detours, he ends up in the office of a large man named Blote. He asks Blote about the carrier, implying that it is a time machine, but Blote demands that Dan supply him with a time machine, as his people have never seen one. Dan leads Blote back to the Snithian office, where Manny and Fiorello see him, but he manages to escape once again. Then, Dan hears a siren as the carrier hurdles through the air, and he is met by a man who says he is from the Inter-dimensional Monitor Service.

<s> THE STAR-SENT KNAVES BY KEITH LAUMER Illustrated by Gaughan [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When the Great Galactic Union first encounters Earth ... is this what is going to happen? I Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one. Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings. That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you. Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers. Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it— Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today! Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded. Now, wait a minute— Kelly started. What's that? Snithian cut in. You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night— Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped. —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished. Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside. The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken. By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault. Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees. I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover. Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door. Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work? A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded. Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet. <doc-sep>I didn't like the looks of the guy any more than the looks of theplace. I've been told you can supply me with a— He coughed. Yes, yes. I understand. It might be possible. He fingeredhis mustache and regarded me from pouchy eyes. Busy executives oftencome to us to avoid the—ah—unpleasantness of formal arrangements.Naturally, we only act as agents, you might say. We never see themerchandise ourselves— He wiped his hands on his trousers. Now wereyou interested in the ordinary Utility model, Mr. Faircloth? I assumed he was just being polite. You didn't come to the back doorfor Utility models. Or perhaps you'd require one of our Deluxe models. Very carefulworkmanship. Only a few key Paralyzers in operation and practicallycomplete circuit duplication. Very useful for—ah—close contact work,you know. Social engagements, conferences— I was shaking my head. I want a Super Deluxe model, I told him. He grinned and winked. Ah, indeed! You want perfect duplication.Yes, indeed. Domestic situations can be—awkward, shall we say. Veryawkward— I gave him a cold stare. I couldn't see where my domestic problems wereany affairs of his. He got the idea and hurried me back to a storeroom. We keep a few blanks here for the basic measurement. You'll go to ourlaboratory on 14th Street to have the minute impressions taken. But Ican assure you you'll be delighted, simply delighted. The blanks weren't very impressive—clay and putty and steel, faceless,brainless. He went over me like a tailor, checking measurements of allsorts. He was thorough—embarrassingly thorough, in fact—but finallyhe was finished. I went on to the laboratory. And that was all there was to it. <doc-sep>Rikud heard the throbbing again as he stood in the room of themachinery. For a long time he watched the wheels and cogs and gearsspinning and humming. He watched for he knew not how long. And then hebegan to wonder. If he destroyed the wheels and the cogs and the gears,would the buzzer stop? It probably would, because, as Rikud saw it, hewas clearly an unauthorized person. He had heard the voice againupon entering the room. He found a metal rod, bright and shiny, three feet long and half aswide as his arm. He tugged at it and it came loose from the wires thatheld it in place. He hefted it carefully for a moment, and then heswung the bar into the mass of metal. Each time he heard a grinding,crashing sound. He looked as the gears and cogs and wheels crumbledunder his blows, shattered by the strength of his arm. Almost casually he strode about the room, but his blows were notcasual. Soon his easy strides had given way to frenzied running. Rikudsmashed everything in sight. When the lights winked out, he stopped. Anyway, by that time the roomwas a shambles of twisted, broken metal. He laughed, softly at first,but presently he was roaring, and the sound doubled and redoubled inhis ears because now the throbbing had stopped. He opened the door and ran through the little corridor to the smallerviewport. Outside he could see the stars, and, dimly, the terrainbeneath them. But everything was so dark that only the stars shoneclearly. All else was bathed in a shadow of unreality. Rikud never wanted to do anything more than he wanted to open thatdoor. But his hands trembled too much when he touched it, and once,when he pressed his face close against the viewport, there in thedarkness, something bright flashed briefly through the sky and was gone. Whimpering, he fled. <doc-sep>She had been seeing too many of the Terrestrial fictapes from thelibrary, Skkiru thought resentfully. There was too damn much Terraninfluence on this planet. And this new project was the last straw. No longer able to control his rage and grief, he turned a triplesomersault in the air with rage. Then why was I made a beggar and shethe high priestess? You arranged that purposely, Bbulas. You— Now, Skkiru, Bbulas said wearily, for they had been through all thisbefore, you know that all the ranks and positions were distributedby impartial lot, except for mine, and, of course, such jobs as couldcarry over from the civilized into the primitive. Bbulas breathed on the spectacles he was wearing, as contact lenseswere not considered backward enough for the kind of planet Snaddrawas now supposed to be, and attempted to wipe them dry on his robe.However, the thick, jewel-studded embroidery got in his way and so hewas forced to lift the robe and wipe all three of the lenses on thesmooth, soft, spun metal of his top underskirt. After all, he went on speaking as he wiped, I have to be highpriest, since I organized this culture and am the only one herequalified to administer it. And, as the president himself concurred inthese arrangements, I hardly think you—a mere private citizen—havethe right to question them. Just because you went to school in another solar system, Skkiru said,whirling with anger, you think you're so smart! I won't deny that I do have educational and cultural advantageswhich were, unfortunately, not available to the general populace ofthis planet. However, even under the old system, I was always glad toutilize my superior attainments as Official Dilettante for the good ofall and now— Sure, glad to have a chance to rig this whole setup so you could breakup things between Larhgan and me. You've had your eye on her for sometime. Skkiru coiled his antennae at Bbulas, hoping the insult would provokehim into an unbecoming whirl, but the Dilettante remained calm. One ofthe chief outward signs of Terran-type training was self-control andBbulas had been thoroughly terranized. I hate Terrestrials , Skkiru said to himself. I hate Terra. Thequiver of anxiety had risen up his leg and was coiling and uncoilingin his stomach. He hoped it wouldn't reach his antennae—if he wereto break down and psonk in front of Larhgan, it would be the finalhumiliation. Skkiru! the girl exclaimed, rotating gently, for she, like herfiance—her erstwhile fiance, that was, for the new regime had causedall such ties to be severed—and every other literate person on theplanet, had received her education at the local university. Althoughsound, the school was admittedly provincial in outlook and very poorin the emotional department. One would almost think that the lots hadsome sort of divine intelligence behind them, because you certainly arebehaving in a beggarly manner! And I have already explained to you, Skkiru, Bbulas said, with apatience much more infuriating than the girl's anger, that I had noidea of who was to become my high priestess. The lots chose Larhgan. Itis, as the Earthmen say, kismet. <doc-sep>It was completely illegal, of course. The wonder was that Ego Prime,Inc., ever got to put their product on the market at all, once thenation's housewives got wind of just what their product was. From the first, there was rigid Federal control and laws regulating theuse of Primes right down to the local level. You could get a licensefor a Utility model Prime if you were a big business executive, or ahigh public official, or a movie star, or something like that; but eventhen his circuits had to be inspected every two months, and he had tohave a thousand built-in Paralyzers, and you had to specify in advanceexactly what you wanted your Prime to be able to do when, where, how,why, and under what circumstances. The law didn't leave a man much leeway. But everybody knew that if you really wanted a personal Prime withall his circuits open and no questions asked, you could get one. Blackmarket prices were steep and you ran your own risk, but it could bedone. Harry Folsom told his friend who knew a guy, and a few greenbacks gotlost somewhere, and I found myself looking at a greasy little man witha black mustache and a bald spot, up in a dingy fourth-story warehouseoff lower Broadway. Ah, yes, the little man said. Mr. Faircloth. We've been expectingyou. <doc-sep>Bruce watched them go, away and up and around the immediate face ofthe mountain in the bleak cold of the Martian morning. He watched themdisappear behind a high ledge, tied together with plastic rope likeconvicts. He stayed by the radio. He lost track of time and didn't care muchif he did. Sometimes he took a heavy sedative and slept. The sedativeprevented the dreams. He had an idea that the dreams might be sopleasant that he wouldn't wake up. He wanted to listen to Terrence aslong as the captain had anything to say. It was nothing but curiosity. At fifteen thousand feet, Terrence reported only that they wereclimbing. At twenty thousand feet, Terrence said, We're still climbing, andthat's all I can report, Bruce. It's worth coming to Mars for—toaccept a challenge like this! At twenty-five thousand feet, Terrence reported, We've put on oxygenmasks. Jacobs and Drexel have developed some kind of altitude sicknessand we're taking a little time out. It's a magnificent sight up here. Ican imagine plenty of tourists coming to Mars one of these days, justto climb this mountain! Mt. Everest is a pimple compared with this!What a feeling of power, Bruce! From forty thousand feet, Terrence said, We gauged this mountainat forty-five thousand. But here we are at forty and there doesn'tseem to be any top. We can see up and up and the mountain keeps ongoing. I don't understand how we could have made such an error in ourcomputations. I talked with Burton. He doesn't see how a mountain thishigh could still be here when the rest of the planet has been worn sosmooth. And then from fifty-three thousand feet, Terrence said with a voicethat seemed slightly strained: No sign of any of the crew of the otherfour ships yet. Ten in each crew, that makes fifty. Not a sign of anyof them so far, but then we seem to have a long way left to climb— Bruce listened and noted and took sedatives and opened cans of foodconcentrates. He smoked and ate and slept. He had plenty of time. Hehad only time and the dreams which he knew he could utilize later totake care of the time. From sixty thousand feet, Terrence reported, I had to shoot Anhausera few minutes ago! He was dissenting. Hear that, Bruce? One of my mostdependable men. We took a vote. A mere formality, of course, whetherwe should continue climbing or not. We knew we'd all vote to keep onclimbing. And then Anhauser dissented. He was hysterical. He refusedto accept the majority decision. 'I'm going back down!' he yelled.So I had to shoot him. Imagine a man of his apparent caliber turninganti-democratic like that! This mountain will be a great tester forus in the future. We'll test everybody, find out quickly who theweaklings are. Bruce listened to the wind. It seemed to rise higher and higher.Terrence, who had climbed still higher, was calling. Think of it! Whata conquest! No man's ever done a thing like this. Like Stromberg says,it's symbolic! We can build spaceships and reach other planets, butthat's not actual physical conquest. We feel like gods up here. We cansee what we are now. We can see how it's going to be— Once in a while Terrence demanded that Bruce say something to prove hewas still there taking down what Terrence said. Bruce obliged. A longtime passed, the way time does when no one cares. Bruce stopped takingthe sedatives finally. The dreams came back and became, somehow, morereal each time. He needed the companionship of the dreams. It was very lonely sitting there without the dreams, with nothing butTerrence's voice ranting excitedly on and on. Terrence didn't seem realany more; certainly not as real as the dreams. <doc-sep>I wished I had been born a couple of hundred years ago—before peoplestarted playing around with nuclear energy and filling the air withradiations that they were afraid would turn human beings into hideousmonsters. Instead, they developed the psi powers that had always beenlatent in the species until we developed into a race of supermen. Idon't know why I say we —in 1960 or so, I might have been consideredsuperior, but in 2102 I was just the Faradays' idiot boy. Exploring space should have been my hope. If there had been anythinguseful or interesting on any of the other planets, I might have founda niche for myself there. In totally new surroundings, the psi powersgeared to another environment might not be an advantage. But by thetime I was ten, it was discovered that the other planets were justbarren hunks of rock, with pressures and climates and atmospheresdrastically unsuited to human life. A year or so before, the hyperdrivehad been developed on Earth and ships had been sent out to explore thestars, but I had no hope left in that direction any more. I was an atavism in a world of peace and plenty. Peace, because peoplecouldn't indulge in war or even crime with so many telepaths runningaround—not because, I told myself, the capacity for primitive behaviorwasn't just as latent in everybody else as the psi talent seemed latentin me. Tim must be right, I thought—I must have some undreamed-ofpower that only the right circumstances would bring out. But what wasthat power? For years I had speculated on what my potential talent might be,explored every wild possibility I could conceive of and found noneproductive of even an ambiguous result with which I could fool myself.As I approached adulthood, I began to concede that I was probablynothing more than what I seemed to be—a simple psi-negative. Yet, fromtime to time, hope surged up again, as it had today, in spite of myknowledge that my hope was an impossibility. Who ever heard of latentpsi powers showing themselves in an individual as old as twenty-six? I was almost alone in the parks where I used to walk, because peopleliked to commune with one another those days rather than with nature.Even gardening had very little popularity. But I found myself most athome in those woodland—or, rather, pseudo-woodland—surroundings,able to identify more readily with the trees and flowers than I couldwith my own kind. A fallen tree or a broken blossom would excite moresympathy from me than the minor catastrophes that will beset anyhousehold, no matter how gifted, and I would shy away from bloodynoses or cut fingers, thus giving myself a reputation for callousnessas well as extrasensory imbecility. However, I was no more callous in steering clear of human breakdownsthan I was in not shedding tears over the household machines when theybroke down, for I felt no more closely akin to my parents and siblingsthan I did to the mechanisms that served and, sometimes, failed us. <doc-sep>As the slideway whisked him gently along the corridor toward hisapartment, Jorj was thinking of his spaceship. For a moment thesilver-winged vision crowded everything else out of his mind. Just think, a spaceship with sails! He smiled a bit, marveling at theparadox. Direct atomic power. Direct utilization of the force of the flyingneutrons. No more ridiculous business of using a reactor to drive asteam engine, or boil off something for a jet exhaust—processes thatwere as primitive and wasteful as burning gunpowder to keep yourselfwarm. Chemical jets would carry his spaceship above the atmosphere. Thenwould come the thrilling order, Set sail for Mars! The vast umbrellawould unfold and open out around the stern, its rear or Earthward sidea gleaming expanse of radioactive ribbon perhaps only an atom thickand backed with a material that would reflect neutrons. Atoms in theribbon would split, blasting neutrons astern at fantastic velocities.Reaction would send the spaceship hurtling forward. In airless space, the expanse of sails would naturally not retard theship. More radioactive ribbon, manufactured as needed in the shipitself, would feed out onto the sail as that already there becameexhausted. A spaceship with direct nuclear drive—and he, a Thinker, hadconceived it completely except for the technical details! Havingstrengthened his mind by hard years of somno-learning, mind-casting,memory-straightening, and sensory training, he had assured himselfof the executive power to control the technicians and direct theirspecialized abilities. Together they would build the true Mars rocket. But that would only be a beginning. They would build the true MindBomb. They would build the true Selective Microbe Slayer. They woulddiscover the true laws of ESP and the inner life. They would even—hisimagination hesitated a moment, then strode boldly forward—build thetrue Maizie! And then ... then the Thinkers would be on even terms with thescientists. Rather, they'd be far ahead. No more deception. He was so exalted by this thought that he almost let the slideway carryhim past his door. He stepped inside and called, Caddy! He waited amoment, then walked through the apartment, but she wasn't there. <doc-sep></s>

The main piece of equipment used in the story is the carrier that Manny and Fiorello arrive in. The carrier contains lots of different levers and controls that make it difficult to navigate. It is able to appear out of thin air, a cage-like structure that has a blue luminous glow to it. Despite the futuristic abilities of the carrier, it is made up of common parts and is not the sturdiest. The carrier is able to appear in random places, but it is also used by Blote to travel to Maple Street.